Table of Contents
Harry’s summer had ended in the whirlwind of a flying car, a furious Molly Weasley, and the warm chaos of the Burrow. But as September crept in, one thing was certain: no amount of butterbeer at breakfast or gnome-throwing contests could soften the truth that awaited him at school.
Hogwarts was calling once more. And with it, the shadow of his rival—Draco Malfoy at Hogwarts, ready to stir storms before the term had even properly begun.
The Train Ride & A Familiar Sneer
The scarlet steam engine roared to life at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, and with it, Harry felt his chest lift in relief. This—this was his real world. He wasn’t trapped behind bars anymore, nor silenced by Dursleys who despised the very word “magic.”
Yet his joy was short-lived. Not long into the journey, a pale face and a smirk sharp enough to cut glass appeared at the compartment door.
Draco Malfoy.
“Enjoy your stay at the Burrow, Potter?” he drawled, his voice dripping with disdain. “Quite the downgrade from a proper wizarding family, isn’t it?”
That single sentence summed up Malfoy’s presence at Hogwarts. He wasn’t just another student; he was the embodiment of old blood pride, resentment wrapped in silk, the echo of darker wizards before him.
Mudblood: The Word That Poisoned the Air
If one moment defined the growing divide, it was on the Quidditch pitch.
It started as most scuffles did—Malfoy flaunting his new Nimbus 2001 broomstick, gifted to the Slytherin team by Lucius Malfoy. Harry, broom in hand, refused to be intimidated.
But then came the word.
“Mudblood.”
The insult cracked through the crisp air like a whip. Hermione’s face paled; Ron’s ears turned scarlet with fury. That slur was more than an insult. It was poison, dripping from centuries of prejudice.
It was here, on that very field, that Malfoy at Hogwarts revealed the true weight of his venom. He wasn’t simply a rival in Quidditch or in class—he was a symbol of division, of hate that clawed at the very heart of the school.
Feuds in the Corridors
The insult spread like wildfire. Whispers followed Hermione through the halls. Some Gryffindors offered comfort, others stiffened with unease, but the damage lingered. Even Harry felt it—anger boiling beneath his skin at Malfoy’s arrogance, and confusion at the depth of the word’s cruelty.
These weren’t just childish rivalries anymore. The castle itself seemed to lean into the tension. Portraits frowned, staircases groaned, and candles flickered with unrest.
Hogwarts was a school, yes—but it was also a mirror of the wizarding world, one where bloodlines still carried more weight than kindness.
Malfoy, Lockhart & The Duel
Of course, it wasn’t enough for Malfoy to sneer from afar. He wanted the spotlight. And Hogwarts, ever a stage, delivered.
In one of the most infamous spectacles of the year, Professor Gilderoy Lockhart organized a “Dueling Club.” And who should be Harry’s first opponent? None other than Malfoy.
The sparks that flew were not merely from wands. Malfoy’s conjured snake slithered across the stage, fangs glinting under torchlight. And then, Harry spoke—hissed, really—and the serpent obeyed.
Parseltongue.
The room erupted. Murmurs swept through the crowd: “He’s a Dark wizard… he speaks to snakes… just like Salazar Slytherin himself…”
The rivalry with Malfoy had now tangled itself with something darker. By provoking Harry, Malfoy had unwittingly peeled back a layer of mystery that would haunt Harry for the rest of the year.
The Seeds of Division
Looking back, it was never just about a single word or a single duel. It was about the widening gap Malfoy carved into Hogwarts. He thrived in the shadows of prejudice, fanned flames of suspicion, and made Harry’s second year even heavier than it already was.
And yet… wasn’t it curious? For all his talk of blood and power, Malfoy was still just a boy, strutting in his father’s shadow, desperate for recognition. A boy who, even in his cruelty, revealed more about the fractures of the wizarding world than he perhaps understood.
It leaves one to wonder—what if Malfoy had chosen differently? What if rivalry could have softened into uneasy friendship, or at least truce?
To Be Continued…
The cracks were widening. Words had power, and Malfoy had unleashed one that would echo across the year. But words alone weren’t the only danger at Hogwarts.
Because soon, it wouldn’t just be insults in the air. It would be writing on the wall.
✨ Next up: The Howler & the Bludger — Chaos on the Quidditch Pitch.