NOVEL NEXT Chapter 17: Unusual Performance
Her voice drew the attention of the entire class. One by one, the students turned to focus on Draco, who seemed entirely unbothered by the sudden scrutiny.
Without lifting his gaze, Draco said calmly, "I was just about to, Professor."
Finally, he picked up his wand, his movements steady and deliberate. Pointing it at the feather on his desk, he closed his eyes briefly, recalling the countless hours of practice Draco had done with Lucius. Taking a slow, steady breath, he visualized the transformation—no fragments, no bundles, just a single, pristine sheet of white paper.
With a precise wave of his wand, the feather began to shimmer and elongate, its texture shifting and smoothing. The class watched in hushed silence as it completed its transformation, leaving a flawless sheet of paper resting on Draco's desk.
Weird, McGonagall thought, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly. It doesn't look... natural.
She masked her unease with a curt nod. "Good," she said briskly, before moving on to observe the rest of the students. Her gaze flicked across the room, stopping on a few exceptions.
"Mr. Weasley," she said pointedly, her tone carrying a touch of impatience. "You should give it a try as well."
Ron, who had just been whispering to Seamus about how Draco wouldn't pull it off, froze. His ears turned crimson as he realized everyone was now watching him.
"Alright, alright," he muttered, his embarrassment evident as he picked up his wand and turned his attention to the feather on his desk.
He tried to recall the countless times he had watched his parents and brothers perform similar spells.
"Come on, Ron," Neville whispered encouragingly from front .
Ron waved his wand, muttering the incantation, but something went wrong. The feather did transform—partially. Instead of a proper sheet of paper, it turned into a pile of uneven fragments.
The room erupted into muffled laughter, and Ron groaned, his face turning an even deeper shade of crimson.
McGonagall, though clearly exasperated, refrained from commenting. Instead, she used the remaining time to broaden the students' understanding of transfiguration. Despite being the first class, she outlined its complexities and potential, leaving them both intrigued and slightly daunted.
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The next class was Charms, held jointly with Slytherin and Hufflepuff.
Professor Flitwick greeted the students with his usual enthusiasm. "Since this is our first class, we'll begin with something simple," he said, standing atop a stack of books so he could be seen clearly. Raising his wand, he demonstrated, "Watch closely—Lumos!"
The tip of his wand illuminated, casting a soft glow across the room.
"Now, your turn," Flitwick said, his cheerful voice encouraging as he scanned the eager faces.
Draco picked up his wand, mimicking Flitwick's demonstration. He took a deep breath and confidently muttered, "Lumos!"
But nothing happened.
Frowning, Draco tried again. And again. Yet each attempt yielded no light.
Why the spell didn't work? He thought looking at his failure.
The soft hum of other students' successes around him only deepened his frustration.
Is it because I'm new to this? Draco's thoughts spiraled as he stared at his wand. But then why was I able to do the transfiguration?
His mind raced, trying to make sense of the situation.
He closed his eyes, blocking out the murmurs and occasional chuckles from nearby students. Taking a deep breath, he tried to recall Flitwick's demonstration. The flick of the wand, the clarity in his voice, the intent behind the spell.
Focus. Visualize. Believe.
Draco opened his eyes, the frustration melting into determination. Raising his wand once more, he muttered under his breath, "Lumos."
This time, it worked. The tip of Draco's wand glowed softly with a faint light, signaling his success.
But the triumph brought him no joy.
What I remember is what Draco has learned, he thought grimly, lowering his wand. But I am not Draco. Maybe instincts will help me sometimes, but I can't rely on that forever.
The realization settled heavily in his chest. The skills and knowledge he inherited weren't truly his own—they were fragments of another person's life, stitched into his existence. If I want to succeed, I'll have to build my own foundation. Practice, learn, adapt. Relying on borrowed instincts will only take me so far.
His silver-gray eyes flicked to the other students. Some still struggled, while others seemed genuinely pleased with their progress. Draco straightened in his seat, his determination hardening.
Fine. If I have to start from scratch, so be it.
Flitwick observed Draco's success with a slight frown, his experienced eyes catching the subtle hesitations in the boy's movements.
Strange, he thought. He's skilled enough to succeed, but there's something off—like someone trying magic for the first time.
For a Malfoy, raised in a family steeped in magical tradition, such hesitation and failure was unusual. Flitwick's keen eyes lingered on Draco for a moment longer than necessary. He made a mental note to watch him more closely—something about Draco didn't quite add up.
But Flitwick wasn't the only one who noticed.
"You were fumbling like someone casting magic for the first time," Theodore Nott remarked, his tone laced with curiosity as he leaned toward Draco.
Draco tensed under Theodore's gaze but kept his expression carefully blank. "Just some thoughts distracting me," he said evenly, though the weight of Theodore's words stung more than he cared to admit.
"Is that so?" Theodore replied, his curiosity clearly piqued as he regarded Draco with a shrewd look.
"Yes," Draco said curtly, his tone clipped. "What else would it be?"
Theodore tilted his head slightly, studying Draco as though he were a particularly intriguing riddle. "What's distracting you, then?" he asked, his voice light but pointed. "It's just odd, isn't it? You nailed Transfiguration earlier—first try, no less. But now you're stumbling over a basic Lumos?"
Draco's grip tightened on his wand, but he managed to brush it off with a casual shrug. "Does it really matter? I got it in the end, didn't I?"
Theodore gave a faint smirk, leaning back slightly. "I suppose it doesn't—if that's all there is to it."
Their conversation didn't go unnoticed. A few students nearby caught the exchange and began to murmur amongst themselves.
Tracey Davis leaned toward her seatmate, Daphne , her voice barely a whisper. "Do you think he's telling the truth?"
Daphne shrugged, not eager to get involved. "What do you think?"
Tracey glanced at Draco, still lost in thought. "Do you reckon the rumours about him are true?"
Daphne's gaze flicked to Draco, then back to Tracey, her face unreadable. "I don't think so" .
But even she couldn't deny that there was something off about Draco's behaviour, leaving her with a growing sense of uncertainty.