Draco Malfoy sat in the corner of the Slytherin common room, his arms crossed and his expression dark. Ever since Harry Weasley had cimed his own room, Draco’s mood had soured considerably. It wasn’t just that Harry was a Weasley—a family Draco had been taught to despise for their “blood traitor” reputation—but the fact that Harry’s bold move had drawn attention and, worse, respect from their housemates.

  Despite Draco’s efforts to ostracize him, Harry seemed to be gaining favor among the first years. Bise Zabini, Daphne Greengrass, and even Theodore Nott had all struck up conversations with Harry, intrigued by his quiet confidence and surprising knowledge of magic. It didn’t help that Harry was already earning points in css, particurly in Potions, where Professor Snape had given him an approving nod during their first lesson.

  Draco clenched his fists as he watched a group of first years whispering and ughing near the firepce. They were undoubtedly talking about Harry, who had just returned from his private room, looking as calm and composed as ever. Draco had tried everything—spreading rumors, making snide remarks, even attempting to rally the uppercssmen to challenge Harry’s right to his room—but none of it had worked. If anything, it seemed to have backfired, making Harry appear even more resilient.

  “Can you believe it?” Draco hissed to his cronies, Crabbe and Goyle, who sat beside him, looking as clueless as ever. “A Weasley, walking around like he owns the pce. It’s disgusting.”

  Crabbe shrugged. “He’s... alright, I guess.”

  Draco’s head snapped toward him. “Alright? He’s a blood traitor! And worse, he’s a Weasley. They don’t belong here.”

  Goyle nodded, though it was clear he was just agreeing out of habit.

  Draco leaned closer, lowering his voice. “We need to remind everyone what it means to be a true Slytherin. That room of his... it’s a disgrace. He doesn’t deserve it.”

  Crabbe and Goyle exchanged nervous gnces, but neither said anything.

  Meanwhile, Harry was oblivious to Draco’s scheming—or if he wasn’t, he simply didn’t care. He was too focused on navigating his new environment, building retionships, and proving himself.

  Bise Zabini approached him during lunch one day, smirking. “You’ve really got Malfoy worked up, you know.”

  Harry looked up from his pte, raising an eyebrow. “Malfoy? Why?”

  Bise chuckled. “You’ve stolen his spotlight. He’s used to being the center of attention. And then you come along—bold, unshakable, ciming your own room and actually earning people’s respect. It’s driving him mad.”

  Harry shrugged. “I’m not trying to compete with him. I just want to get through the year without any drama.”

  “Good luck with that,” Bise said with a grin. “Draco thrives on drama. But you? You might actually give him a run for his money.”

  Draco’s frustration only grew as time went on. Every attempt to undermine Harry seemed to fail. The first years continued to gravitate toward him, intrigued by his knowledge and calm demeanor. Even some of the uppercssmen had started to take notice, nodding approvingly when Harry walked by or giving him advice on navigating Slytherin politics.

  One evening, as Draco sat in his usual corner, plotting his next move, he overheard a group of fifth years talking about Harry’s skills in warding.

  “I heard he built some kind of ward system in his room,” one of them whispered. “Even Shafiq couldn’t break through it.”

  “Shafiq?” another replied, eyes wide. “He’s a seventh year!”

  Draco’s jaw tightened. This wasn’t just about a Weasley in Slytherin anymore—this was about his own status, his own influence. If Weasley continued to rise, Draco knew his own position in the house would be threatened.

  Draco Malfoy paced the Slytherin common room, his frustration bubbling beneath the surface. He had heard the whispers about Harry Weasley’s supposed warding skills, but he refused to believe them.

  “It’s absurd,” Draco muttered to himself, ignoring the puzzled looks from Crabbe and Goyle as they trailed behind him. “We’re first-years! There’s no way a Weasley has the magical prowess to set up wards that could stop anyone, let alone a seventh-year. The older students are just making things up because they don’t want us ciming the private rooms.”

  Crabbe scratched his head. “Maybe the wards are real?”

  Draco rounded on him, scowling. “Don’t be ridiculous. Weasley’s a blood traitor from a family that can barely afford new robes, let alone magical education. He probably doesn’t even know what a ward is!”

  Goyle grunted in agreement, but Draco wasn’t convinced. If anything, the rumors had only solidified his resolve. If Harry Weasley could cim a room, then so could he.

  Late that evening, as most of the house settled into their dormitories, Draco approached the section of the dungeon where the private rooms were located. He stopped in front of an uncimed door, studying it with narrowed eyes.

  “This is my chance,” he thought. “I’ll show everyone that I’m not afraid to stand out, unlike Weasley. When they see I’ve taken a room, they’ll realize how ridiculous those stories about him are.”

  With a deep breath, Draco opened the door. The room was small but well-furnished, with a four-poster bed, a desk, and a wardrobe. It wasn’t luxurious by Malfoy Manor standards, but it would do.

  He set his trunk down with a decisive thud and looked around. “Simple,” he muttered. “No need for wards or any of that nonsense. This room is mine.”

  The next morning, the Slytherin common room was unusually noisy. Whispers and stifled ughter echoed off the stone walls as students gathered in clusters, pointing and giggling at the centerpiece of the room: Draco Malfoy, hanging upside down from one of the grand chandeliers, completely naked.

  His pale skin turned red with embarrassment, and his arms filed as he tried to cover himself. His cries of indignation were muffled by the ughter of his housemates.

  “Get me down from here!” Draco yelled, his voice shrill with rage and humiliation. “Whoever did this is going to regret it!”

  Bise Zabini leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed, a bemused smirk pying on his lips. “Well, well,” he drawled. “It seems someone decided to teach Malfoy a lesson in humility.”

  Daphne Greengrass stood nearby, trying and failing to suppress her ughter. “I think it’s safe to say that ciming a room isn’t as simple as he thought.”

  The older students were particurly entertained, some cpping mockingly and others shaking their heads in mock disapproval. “Cssic,” said Gemma Farley, a seventh-year prefect, with a smirk. “Should’ve seen it coming, Malfoy.”

  Even the first-years, who had been wary of Draco’s attitude, couldn’t help but snicker at the sight.

  Harry Weasley, who had been quietly observing the commotion from a corner of the common room, couldn’t help but feel a mix of amusement and satisfaction. He hadn’t been the one to orchestrate Draco’s predicament, but he could appreciate the poetic justice.

  Bise approached him, an eyebrow raised. “Your work?”

  Harry shook his head, his expression neutral. “Nope. I prefer my pranks a little more... subtle.”

  Bise chuckled. “Still, I wouldn’t be surprised if Malfoy bmes you. He seems to think you’re responsible for all his troubles tely.”

  Harry smirked. “Let him think what he wants.”

  Eventually, Professor Snape entered the common room, his bck robes billowing as he swept through the gathered students. The ughter died down immediately, repced by a tense silence.

  Snape’s dark eyes scanned the room before nding on Draco. With a flick of his wand, Draco was gently lowered to the ground. “Mr. Malfoy,” Snape said, his voice icy. “Get dressed and report to my office immediately.”

  Draco scrambled to grab his robes, his face burning with shame.

  Snape turned to the rest of the house, his gaze sharp enough to cut through steel. “If I find out who is responsible for this... spectacle, there will be consequences. Severe consequences.”

  As the students dispersed, still whispering and chuckling under their breaths, Harry couldn’t help but wonder who had pulled off such an eborate prank.

  Whatever the case, one thing was clear: ciming a private room in Slytherin was not for the faint of heart—and Draco Malfoy had learned that lesson the hard way.

  He sat in the Slytherin common room, scowling as he observed Harry Weasley from a distance. His attempts to make Harry an outcast in Slytherin had failed spectacurly. Far from being isoted, Harry had become a favorite among both the students and the professors. His intelligence, work ethic, and approachable demeanor had won him respect from nearly everyone, and it frustrated Draco to no end.

  What irked Draco the most, however, was Harry’s budding friendship with a Gryffindor—a mudblood at that—named Hermione Granger.

  Draco had first noticed Harry’s frequent visits to the library shortly after the start of term. At first, he dismissed it as Weasley simply being a studious loner. But then came the Gryffindor girl.

  Hermione Granger, the know-it-all of Gryffindor House, was almost always in the library, buried in books. It wasn’t long before Draco noticed Harry sitting at the same table as her. At first, they seemed to keep to themselves, but over time, the two began talking, their conversations growing animated as they discussed magical theories, spellwork, and ancient runes.

  Draco sneered at the thought. A Weasley and a mudblood, sitting together like old friends. How disgusting.

  But as much as it annoyed him, it also gave him an idea.

  Draco leaned back in his chair, smirking to himself. If he couldn’t isote Harry within Slytherin, perhaps he could use Harry’s connection to Granger to turn the tables.

  Draco knew how much Slytherins valued house loyalty and pureblood ideals. If he could frame Harry’s friendship with Hermione as a betrayal of Slytherin principles, he might be able to undermine Harry’s popurity.

  “Crabbe, Goyle,” Draco said, his voice low but commanding.

  The two looked up from their half-eaten snacks, blinking in confusion.

  “I have a pn,” Draco continued. “We’re going to show the house what kind of alliances Weasley is making. If he’s so chummy with a Gryffindor mudblood, let’s see how the rest of Slytherin feels about that.”

  The next day, Draco positioned himself strategically in the library, watching as Harry and Hermione sat together at their usual table. Hermione was gesturing enthusiastically to a rge book on magical creatures while Harry nodded, occasionally adding his own insights.

  Draco’s eyes narrowed. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the camaraderie between them was clear.

  He decided to bide his time. If he was going to expose Harry’s “disloyalty,” he needed to do it in a way that would leave an impression. A single comment wouldn’t be enough—he needed evidence, something undeniable.

  What Draco didn’t anticipate, however, was just how much Hermione’s intellect appealed to Harry—and by extension, how it began to appeal to others in Slytherin.

  By the following week, Bise Zabini had approached Harry in the common room. “I hear you’ve been studying with Granger,” Bise said casually. “She’s supposed to be quite sharp. What’s she like?”

  Harry shrugged. “She’s brilliant. A bit intense, but in a good way. If you’re ever stuck on something, she’s the person to ask.”

  Intrigued, Bise began joining Harry in the library occasionally, even striking up conversations with Hermione. Before long, other Slytherins followed suit, curious about the Gryffindor who seemed to know everything.

  Draco’s pn to isote Harry backfired spectacurly. Instead of alienating Harry, his connection with Hermione had inadvertently bridged the gap between Slytherin and Gryffindor—at least for a few students.

  One evening, as Draco sat brooding in the common room, Bise approached him with a smirk.

  “Looks like your scheme didn’t work out, Malfoy,” Bise said, his tone light but mocking.

  Draco gred at him. “What are you talking about?”

  “Granger. She’s practically a celebrity now. Thanks to Weasley, half the first-years in Slytherin are swapping study tips with her.”

  Draco’s jaw tightened as Bise walked away, chuckling.

  Unaware of Draco’s failed scheme, Harry continued to bance his time between Slytherin and the library. He enjoyed studying with Hermione—not just because she was knowledgeable, but because she challenged him to think differently.

  And as more Slytherins began to join their study sessions, Harry felt a strange sense of accomplishment. He wasn’t just surviving in Slytherin; he was thriving, building connections and proving that loyalty didn’t have to come at the cost of friendships.