The Sorting Ceremony had concluded.
Professor McGonagall strode towards the staff table; Harry and Hermione walked together towards the Gryffindor table; Draco sighed and walked alone towards the Slytherin table.
Sure enough, Blaise saved a seat for him.
Before he could even sit down, the Slytherin students spontaneously gave him a warm round of applause. He glanced at Blaise, slightly surprised; the latter whispered to him with an excited expression, "Your Patronus Charm... everyone in the carriages knows about it."
Draco understood.
No wonder many students from both his own House and other Houses were staring at him at the same time, he thought wearily.
He sat down reservedly, forcing a smile at the students around him. He was not really in the mood for socialising; a gloomy mood was sweeping through his heart like a tornado.
Perhaps it was the aftereffects of confronting the Dementors, or perhaps it was because Hermione Granger, who had always been frank and open with him, had begun to hide things from him.
In fact, he did not even want to eat at that moment. He wished he could hurry back to his private bedroom at the bottom of the Black Lake and exile himself to that four-poster bed where he could escape everything and fend for himself.
"Draco, stop looking so listless," Blaise said calmly. "There are so many people watching you. You need to put on a good show and let them see what a Slytherin third-year who can cast the Patronus Charm looks like. As the first person this year to add ten points to the House, you need to stand up straight and maintain the good image of a Slytherin."
"Of course," Draco said wearily.
He had to maintain a composed demeanour, sitting at the table with an elegant posture, looking as utterly unperturbed as a pathetic mascot.
At that moment, he noticed Marcus Flint sitting across the table the Slytherin team captain's face was so gloomy it could drip water.
"He does not seem to be in a good mood," he whispered to Blaise.
"He is repeating a year... He failed one course." Blaise subtly placed his hand on his nose to conceal his moving mouth.
Draco nodded amicably to Marcus; Marcus nodded back, his expression softening slightly.
At Blaise's urging, Draco ate a little something, but it tasted bland.
He ignored Dumbledore's rambling about Dementors and new faculty members things he was tired of hearing in his past life—and instead idly turned his gaze to Professor Snape's seat at the staff table, where he suddenly noticed a twitching, hateful expression on his face.
This was a detail that Draco did not notice in his previous life.
Even Harry, who blew up the cauldron, had not aroused Professor Snape's hatred; Professor Lupin, who was about to take over the Defence Against the Dark Arts class, had done it, he thought in astonishment.
He absentmindedly cut a steak, tasting it but putting it in his mouth without a clear purpose. His eyes were busy observing the movements at the staff table, silently pondering the Slytherin Head of House's thoughts for a moment:
Did Professor Snape already know Professor Lupin's werewolf identity, or did he simply hate all the newcomers who had taken up the positions of Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers? Or was there another reason—did Professor Snape and Professor Lupin have a personal grudge?
Even after Professor Dumbledore finished explaining, Draco still could not determine which reason was more prevalent.
Professor Lupin's ragged appearance did not garner a warm welcome from most of the students. The evidence was that only a few lukewarm, scattered claps of applause rang out in the Great Hall, and these were mostly from the Gryffindor students who had seen Professor Lupin on the train.
After Professor Lupin took his seat, the staff section became lively, with some professors greeting him and blocking Draco's view.
So he stared back at Hermione at the Gryffindor table. She finished clapping, enthusiastically poured herself pumpkin juice, and then drank it contentedly, a genuine smile spreading across her face...
He stared at her, and could not help but add some hot pumpkin juice to his own glass and taste it.
—It tasted pretty good. Draco had finally regained some of his sense of taste.
In fact, the first dinner of the school year was always very plentiful and delicious.
Whilst the table was a mess of dishes and cups, the Slytherin students, clutching their bellies, noisily and unsteadily made their way through the stone wall back to the common room.
"How about we get another Quidditch Cup for Slytherin?" Draco said to Marcus as they entered the common room one after the other.
This "eighth year senior" exuded an aura that says to keep away causing most students to keep their distance, fearing they might offend him and get a beating.
But Draco was not afraid of him; he knew that nothing could win Marcus's heart more than Quidditch.
"Of course!" Marcus said in a low voice, a smile appearing on his gorilla-like face for the first time that evening.
"Well done!" He patted Draco's shoulder with his heavy hand. "I saw your score for Slytherin. A great start, very good." After saying that, he did not linger and strode heavily towards the boys' dormitory.
The poor chap, repeating a year must have been a huge blow to him. Draco saw him off, unaware that a large group of people had gathered around him without his noticing.
"Tell us again what exactly happened today," Graham Montague said. Several Quidditch team members were gathered around him, nodding at Draco, seemingly very interested in the story.
"Yes, how did you defeat the Dementors?" Daphne Greengrass asked.
"There is nothing to say. I have not fully mastered the spell yet, but the situation was critical at the time…" Draco said lazily, casually sitting down in an armchair by the fireplace.
After he finished speaking, Millicent Bulstrode asked, "Did that coward Harry Potter really faint? If the Dementors were to come and patrol the castle one day, would he faint at the drop of a hat?"
At this moment, several Slytherin students began to pretend to faint, and laughter rang out around them.
Does fainting mean someone is a coward? Draco thought with disgust; these people really knew nothing about the capabilities of Dementors.
"There is nothing funny, Bulstrode," he said coldly. "If a Dementor attacks you, I do not reckon you will do much better than him."
Millicent Bulstrode shut his mouth in embarrassment.
"Attack?" Theodore Nott finally spoke, asking a rare question.
"Yes. The Dementors that came to our carriage were not just patrolling; their purpose was to attack," Draco said sternly. "I must warn you that the idea of letting Dementors into Hogwarts Castle is extremely dangerous, like placing a large bowl of fine beef in front of a pack of starving dogs. They are unreasonable, and they could attack us at any moment."
The crowd stopped laughing and began to whisper.
Slytherins never liked the feeling of being in danger.
Draco continued, "It is unwise to joke about Dementors. They are not safe, and any sensible person would want to stay away from them. They might attack Harry Potter today, but they could attack you tomorrow."
His calm gaze swept over the Slytherins around him, some surprised, some thoughtful, and he said meaningfully, "Be vigilant! Even those who have defeated the Dark Lord are powerless against the attacks of Dementors. If you yourselves were to face the attacks of Dementors, how much better off would you be?"
Exhausted, he gave a cold laugh at the crowd, got up, and walked back to his single room, shutting out the silent atmosphere of the common room.