novelraw Chapter 70: Slytherin Earns Ten Points
Chapter 70: Slytherin Earns Ten Points
When Harry Potter woke in his seat, the Hogwarts Express had already resumed its journey.
As the seat vibrated, he reached up and adjusted his glasses, which had been slipping down his nose, only to find Hermione and Draco crouching beside him, watching him.
"Are you all right?" Hermione asked with concern.
"I'm fine," Harry said. He quickly rose from his seat and attempted to peer toward the doorway.
"What happened?" he asked in a puzzled tone.
From the moment the Dementor entered the compartment, he'd lost all awareness of his surroundings.
He seemed to have entered another dark space—filled with screams, coldness, and fear.
Hermione carefully observed his expression and briefly recounted everything that had just occurred.
"I'm sorry, I didn't manage to wake Professor Lupin..." he murmured.
"It's fine. Have something to eat." Draco pressed something into his hand.
Harry accepted it blankly and consumed it without thinking, only to be surprised by a warm current flowing to his fingertips and toes.
After a moment, the boy eating chocolate finally collected himself and asked in confusion, "Then who was screaming?"
"Nobody was screaming," Ron said worriedly. He was leading his sister Ginny and Neville into the compartment.
Ginny looked just as poorly as Harry. Neville swayed unsteadily, appearing rigid. Hermione had given them both pieces of chocolate, which they ate listlessly.
"But I heard screaming—" Harry looked around.
"Do you remember what I told you at Grimmauld Place?" Draco said wearily. "Dementors awaken wizards' darkest memories."
Harry's face darkened. He said nothing, frowned, and quietly finished the remainder of his chocolate. Hermione and Ron watched him with concern.
"Since you're all well, I'm leaving." Draco slowly stood, straightened his robes, nodded to them, and exited the compartment.
The corridor was no longer gloomy and desolate.
The extinguished lights had all revived, now so bright they were almost blinding to Draco. He walked forward, lost in thought, his eyes downcast, feeling utterly exhausted.
Just then, a voice called from behind.
"Draco, are you certain you're all right?"
It was Hermione.
Draco halted and looked back at her blankly.
She was scrutinizing him with a worried expression. "You still don't look well."
Draco couldn't resist being slightly mischievous and reached out to pat her fluffy hair. "I'm fine. Your chocolate worked wonders."
Hermione hadn't expected him to suddenly touch her hair. But she didn't pull away. More than worrying about such trivial matters, she was concerned about his mental state.
"If you feel unwell, you must say so immediately," she said, tilting her head slightly as she accepted his gesture. She didn't grow angry at being treated like a small creature; instead, she simply kept reminding him, "You can't bottle it up."
Draco nodded, pleased she hadn't rejected his pat on the head.
"This is the first time I've witnessed someone cast a Patronus Charm. You're brilliant," Hermione said curiously.
She found herself constantly wanting to speak with him.
Looking into his slightly tired eyes, she felt as though grey frost had condensed within them—both beautiful and cold, both complex and desolate.
At times like these, she always wanted to say something to him, to dispel everything beyond the beauty.
"It's unfortunate I didn't cast it properly," Draco sighed regretfully. "I've only just begun practicing this spell. I learned a bit from my mother at summer's end."
"Could you teach me?" Hermione asked enviously. "I despise that feeling of being controlled by Dementors. It's like being ill, like—"
She hesitated, then secretly swallowed the rest of her sentence.
It wasn't just because she hated feeling dominated.
She hated even more that she couldn't do anything and could only hide behind him.
When he stood alone before her against that terrifying creature, she'd felt utterly powerless, frustrated, and furious that she couldn't help him.
"Of course." Draco lowered his hand from her hair, feeling somewhat frustrated by his less-than-successful Patronus Charm.
"Anytime is fine—as long as you don't mind that I'm only half-competent," he said wistfully.
"Of course not. We can study it together," Hermione said with great interest.
He found a trace of sincerity in her eyes, and a faint smile finally appeared on his lips.
"All right," he said.
Hermione smiled along with him, her expression less worried.
"I don't think I've thanked you yet... for protecting me by standing before me," she said to him, a slight blush rising on her cheeks.
"My pleasure," Draco said contentedly, feeling a long-lost satisfaction that Hermione Granger hadn't been harmed before him.
Hermione, naturally, had no idea what he was thinking.
In her view, his expression was somewhat joyful, yet also somewhat distant, even somewhat melancholy and sad, which was truly perplexing.
Lost in their own thoughts, they exchanged a silent glance, then unconsciously looked at the window beside them—located opposite the compartment door, on the other side of the train.
Outside the window, wind and rain created a dismal scene, but inside the train, it was warm and comfortable.
It was as though those dark creatures had never attacked the train.
But the terrifying impression of that dark creature had already been imprinted in their minds.
"Draco, will those Dementors... go to Hogwarts?" Hermione asked hesitantly.
"They won't enter the school," Draco said softly, gazing at her reflection in the glass window. "They'll remain outside Hogwarts until they capture Peter Pettigrew."
Hermione appeared relieved, though her gaze on his retreating figure still held a hint of worry.
When Draco returned to his compartment, Crabbe and Goyle were consuming the last bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. An empty small trunk sat on the table before them.
"We didn't keep them all—we distributed them to other students," Goyle quickly explained when he noticed Draco's gaze drift toward him.
"I know." Draco didn't glare at him; instead, he praised them. "Ron told me. Surprisingly, you two didn't brawl whilst distributing chocolates."
"That Weasley git!" Crabbe muttered. "Since he said 'thank you' to me, I should at least show some courtesy—"
"That's the right attitude. Maintain it." Draco yawned wearily and settled into his comfortable seat for a rest.
They didn't rest long before the train arrived at Hogsmeade Station.
Perhaps because they'd just been searched by Dementors, the scene of students disembarking was exceptionally chaotic. They looked less like students preparing for term and more like refugees.
Draco stood at the carriage door and spotted Hermione in the distance. She was following behind Harry and Ron, running toward the carriages in the rain, holding Ron's sister Ginny Weasley's hand.
Those Gryffindors! Always so reckless!
Draco frowned, watching the receding brown figure, then observing the cramped platform beside him, chilled by the cold air, and the torrential rain pouring overhead—feeling utterly miserable.
On the platform, Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson were quarreling again, so loudly he could hear them from a considerable distance.
"Right, stop arguing." Draco approached and said lazily. "You have an entire school year to quarrel—let's proceed to the castle first."
So the two sharp-eyed individuals, assessing the situation, decided to temporarily cease hostilities and followed Draco down the rough, muddy path toward the carriages. They encountered Theodore Nott along the way and boarded the same carriage.
As soon as they boarded, a faint smell of mustiness and straw made the boys wrinkle their noses in displeasure.
Pansy, naturally, couldn't tolerate the odor either. So she sprayed perfume into the carriage, which only rendered the mixture even more complicated and unpleasant.
"Please, have mercy!" Draco said wearily, sneezing as he was overwhelmed by the cloying, powdery scent.
Pansy shrugged, stowed her perfume bottle, and her gaze fell on the serpent-patterned ring on his finger.
"A ring! Draco, who gave this to you?" Pansy asked with a gossipy, mischievous grin.
"I wager it's one of Draco's admirers," Blaise grinned, revealing white teeth. "She must be a young witch just experiencing her first crush."
"Why have you stopped arguing?" Draco said, attempting to change the subject. "I don't mind if you continue quarreling."
"No, we've finished arguing," Pansy said with interest. "Right, Blaise?"
"Precisely." Blaise and Pansy exchanged a glance and smiled maliciously, suddenly transforming from mortal enemies into teammates sharing common purpose.
"Tell us, what's the story? Is it a token of affection?" Pansy asked meaningfully.
"Shut it, this is merely a birthday present." Draco glared at them fiercely, though a blush appeared on his face. "Anyone who asks again will be drinking poisoned pumpkin juice."
"All right, don't torment him, Pansy. It's not worth you missing dinner over this. We'll discover who it is eventually anyway." Blaise said with a smile. "Draco, I heard you cast a Patronus Charm and repelled the Dementors?"
"My Patronus Charm isn't that powerful. Someone else ultimately drove away the Dementors," Draco said absently.
"Come off it, it's already spread throughout the train. Crabbe and Goyle mentioned it when they were distributing chocolates," Pansy said.
"Why would you credit the linguistic abilities of these two 'brilliant' individuals?" Draco asked, rubbing his forehead in exasperation.
"Regardless, thank you for the chocolate," Theodore Nott said for the first time.
Draco nodded to Theodore, ignoring the other two gossipy individuals, and began observing the commotion outside the carriage.
At this moment, a line of carriages was proceeding toward two imposing wrought-iron gates, where two sinister Dementors stood guard.
Through the rain, he spotted that troublesome brown head peeking from the small window of the carriage ahead, apparently observing the turrets and towers of Hogwarts.
What a reckless girl! Wasn't she afraid of Dementors? Wasn't she afraid of catching cold? Draco suddenly felt irritated.
Draco finally relaxed once the carriage had safely passed through the gates and entered the grounds.
Amid the commotion, students disembarked from the carriages, ascended the stone steps, passed through the great oak doors, and entered the spacious Entrance Hall.
In the Entrance Hall, burning torches dispelled the chill brought by the rain. Draco was famished, and as he followed the crowd toward the Great Hall, he heard a stern voice calling his name.
"Potter! Granger! And Malfoy! I need to see all three of you immediately!"
Draco turned and saw Professor McGonagall, Head of Gryffindor House, calling to them over everyone's heads.
Her expression was serious, her hair secured in a tight bun, and her sharp eyes gleamed through her square spectacles.
"Are you well?" Blaise asked him with a smile, though a hint of concern flashed in his eyes.
"I'm fine. Save me a seat." Draco casually placed his hands in his robes' pockets, smiled indifferently at Blaise and the others, and gestured for them to proceed.
Harry and Hermione squeezed through the crowd toward him, their faces showing signs of apprehension. Ron stood uneasily in the crowd, staring wide-eyed at them. Harry waved hastily at Ron.
"There's no need for such tension. I simply want to speak with you in my office," Professor McGonagall said seriously. She quickly led them through the Entrance Hall, up the marble staircase, and finally opened the door to a small, cozy office.
This was Professor McGonagall's office.
They filed in and stood side by side before Professor McGonagall, listening as she said:
"Professor Lupin sent an owl ahead to explain the situation on the train—"
Before she could finish, she was interrupted by a gentle knock on the door.
"Enter," Professor McGonagall said.
The next moment, the matron, Madam Pomfrey, rushed in like a whirlwind. Without preamble, she immediately began scrutinizing Harry.
"I've complained to Professor Dumbledore about this previously! Deploying Dementors near the school is dangerous, isn't it, Minerva?" she complained loudly to Professor McGonagall as she deftly checked Harry's forehead and pulse, fussing as though he were a fragile infant.
Harry was clearly confused and embarrassed by his treatment—his face was flushed—and he appeared ready to protest.
But Madam Pomfrey was always very assertive with patients she deemed necessary to examine; even Professor McGonagall couldn't easily refuse her professional advice, let alone Harry, a student about to enter third year.
"Potter, you must allow her to examine you," Professor McGonagall said sternly. "She must also report the results to Professor Dumbledore later."
Even as Madam Pomfrey bustled about, Draco and Hermione wisely retreated, attempting to appear invisible. As Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall surrounded Harry, Draco noticed that Hermione's hair was damp with rainwater.
So he discreetly drew his wand, flicked it, and cast a Drying Charm on her.
"What are you doing?" Hermione suddenly turned, her brown eyes reflecting the warm firelight, gazing at him unblinkingly.
"Being caught in the rain isn't beneficial for a lady's health." Draco's lips moved slightly, his platinum blond fringe falling forward, obscuring the complex expression in his eyes.
He thought to himself, rather sullenly, that she was so careless and didn't look after her health at all.
Hermione gave him a belated smile.
By this time, Madam Pomfrey had finished examining Harry. Then, as though remembering something, she suddenly rushed over, seized Draco, and began checking his pulse—now it was his turn to endure scrutiny.
Draco felt utterly flustered. Hearing Hermione and Harry chuckle softly beside him, he felt his cheeks burn.
"I heard from Mr. Potter that you distributed chocolate to everyone," Madam Pomfrey said approvingly as she examined him. "Very effective. You possess considerable talent for Healing and Defense Against the Dark Arts."
Draco gave her an awkward but polite smile.
"Nothing serious. You've had the chocolate, and a good night's rest should restore you. However, you don't look well; it appears you're still not getting adequate sleep." Madam Pomfrey examined his eyes and asked, "Would you like some Sleeping Draught?"
"It's fine. Thank you," Draco said dismissively—noticing Hermione's curious glance—and quickly added to Madam Pomfrey, "My sleep is acceptable; it's probably just aftereffects from the Dementors."
"Perhaps," Madam Pomfrey said skeptically. "Logically, children your age shouldn't have sleep difficulties. It's usually the overthinkers—"
"Thank you," Draco interrupted her, "but you truly needn't concern yourself."
Madam Pomfrey shook her head and said nothing more. She muttered something as she opened the door and returned to the Hospital Wing.
"I don't understand—I didn't faint, so why must they examine me?" Draco complained, glancing at Hermione, who was lost in thought beside him.
"Professor Snape requested I do so, Mr. Malfoy. Because you cast the Patronus Charm. For a young wizard your age, that's an extraordinarily difficult spell, and it could easily lead to exhaustion and magical depletion." Professor McGonagall finished speaking, her lips pursed sternly.
"Professor McGonagall, he was protecting us—the situation was critical—" Hermione quickly explained on his behalf.
"Yes..." Harry chimed in.
"This is extremely reckless! Schools prohibit students from using magic outside of class! This should be punished. Moreover, casting a spell before you've fully mastered it could cause you significant harm," Professor McGonagall said sternly. "I must inform Professor Dumbledore about this, and the school will also write to your parents."
Draco lowered his head and remained silent.
He thought, troubled, "Mother will definitely worry about this."
"However, when facing danger, Mr. Malfoy demonstrated fearlessness in protecting his classmates and took appropriate measures to treat and assist those around him. Slytherin earns ten points." Upon hearing this, Draco looked up in surprise and saw Professor McGonagall smiling at him.
People said that Professor McGonagall was a strict and fair professor.
But everyone had preferences. She would obviously be somewhat more lenient with Gryffindor students and considerably harsher with Slytherin students.
Therefore, earning her favor and smile as a Slytherin was no less difficult than a Gryffindor winning Professor Snape's approval.
"Of course, this doesn't mean that 'casting spells outside class' should be encouraged. We've decided to defer recording your 'unauthorized spellcasting,'" Professor McGonagall said sternly again. "We hope you'll take this as a lesson."
Draco nodded silently.
Harry was thoroughly confused. He asked Hermione, "What does this mean?"
"Oh, so that means because there was justification, Draco will only receive a verbal warning for 'unauthorized spellcasting,' with no written reprimand," Hermione said quietly, relieved. "It's fortunate there won't be a written record of violating the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery."
Hermione's explanation was correct.
Draco had been vaguely worried about this matter, and only now could he finally relax.
Before he could relax long, he and Harry were ushered into the corridor, leaving Professor McGonagall and Hermione to discuss matters privately regarding "timetable arrangements."
Neither departed first; they stood together outside the door waiting for Hermione to emerge.
Harry seemed preoccupied. He looked down, staring at the floor, lost in thought.
"Don't be so downcast," Draco said, nudging Harry's shoe with his toe. "It's not shameful to faint before Dementors—it simply means you're more sensitive."
"What do you mean by that?" Harry looked up at him, still somewhat dejected. "Are you making an unfunny joke?"
"Fainting doesn't indicate weakness. I suspect the Dementors affected you more severely than others because you've suffered more." Draco asked softly, "You said you heard screaming—whose screams were they?"
Harry lowered his head again.
"It was a woman screaming," he said somberly. "I think it might be my mother. That was her scream when she died—"
"Oh—" Draco said hoarsely, his lips pale.
"I heard her say, 'Not Harry, please not Harry.'" Harry's voice sounded like shards of broken glass.
After a pause, Draco organized his thoughts and said, "She must have loved you tremendously. She was willing to sacrifice herself to protect you."
"Yes. I believe so," Harry said quietly. "This is the first and only time I've ever heard her voice."
Draco was speechless.
What should he say at this juncture?
"I'm truly sorry," he said, feeling for the first time how powerless language could be.
After a pause, Harry spoke again. His tone held a hint of envy. "I saw your mother embrace you goodbye on the platform. She—loved you very much, didn't she?"
"Yes. I believe so." Draco paused momentarily, then said sincerely, "She's an excellent mother. And your mother—I believe so too. They were both mothers who loved their children, who loved us in their own ways."
His mother, Narcissa—who'd been willing to relinquish her wand to her son, to face the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters unarmed at Malfoy Manor.
Ah, a mother's love.
Despite their different allegiances and positions, they shared a similarity—they all loved their children with all their might.
Draco couldn't even imagine what he'd be like without his mother's love.
He might have died long ago.
Given his circumstances in his previous life, he probably wouldn't have survived and would have withered away.
At that moment, Draco suddenly realized he'd been vastly more fortunate than Harry.
Harry grew up without a mother, like an orphan, living with Muggle relatives who despised wizards, even residing in a cupboard, lacking proper clothing and suffering abuse; whilst he'd grown up carefree and extraordinarily privileged at Malfoy Manor.
The only voice Harry remembered of his mother was the painful memory he was forced to recall under the Dementors' influence—her anguished cry before her murder. Draco had always enjoyed his mother's companionship and love, and for him, being "loved by his mother" was as simple and natural as eating and dressing.
Draco couldn't imagine that if he were in Harry's position—with such a difficult life and such a loveless environment—he would probably have collapsed long ago.
"They'll probably mock me," Harry said with a bitter smile, "for fainting or something."
Draco gave Harry a strained, pallid smile.
He suddenly remembered that he hadn't been in excellent condition when facing Dementors either.
If Hermione hadn't called his name, if her warm hands hadn't embraced him, giving him courage from somewhere, perhaps there would have been another person fainting in that compartment.
Perhaps right now, it would be just him and Harry debating "how to handle the students' ridicule."
"Harry, listen—no one has the right to mock you," Draco said with difficulty. "If they had experienced what you've endured, how many could be as kind, optimistic, and resilient as you? You've been exceptionally brave. None of this is your fault. The Dementors triggered your traumatic memories."
Draco wasn't lying; he genuinely believed it.
"Thank you." Harry sniffed and finally looked up at Draco with moist eyes that appeared freshly rained upon. "I finally understand what you meant. Those Dementors are the most terrifying creatures in the world."
At that moment, Hermione, beaming with joy, and Professor McGonagall, still maintaining a serious demeanor, opened the door, abruptly ending Draco and Harry's conversation.
"Draco, Harry, let's go to dinner!" she said to them with a radiant smile, as though she'd encountered something incredibly wonderful. "I can't wait to see the menu!"
"What did you discuss?" Draco asked Hermione casually as they walked behind Professor McGonagall toward the Great Hall. "Why are you suddenly so delighted?"
"It's a secret," Hermione said with a mysterious smile. "I can't tell."
Draco glanced at her, his mood sinking further.
Even Hermione Granger, who valued "honesty" most, now had little secrets she wouldn't share with him? Draco suddenly felt a strange sadness welling inside, along with a faint sense of self-loathing.
"Yes, why should she tell him?" he thought listlessly, following everyone else into the Hall.
The Sorting Ceremony had concluded.
Professor McGonagall strode toward the staff table; Harry and Hermione walked together toward the Gryffindor table; Draco sighed and walked alone toward the Slytherin table.
As expected, Blaise had saved him a seat.
Before he could even sit, the Slytherin students spontaneously gave him warm applause. He glanced at Blaise, slightly surprised; the latter whispered to him with an excited expression, "Your Patronus Charm—everyone on the train knows about it."
Draco understood.
No wonder many students from both his own House and others were staring at him simultaneously, he thought wearily.
He sat down reservedly, forcing a smile at the surrounding students. He wasn't truly in the mood for socializing; a gloomy mood was sweeping through his heart like a tornado.
Perhaps it was aftereffects from confronting the Dementors, or perhaps because Hermione Granger, who'd always been frank and open with him, had begun concealing things from him.
In fact, he didn't even want to eat at that moment. He wished he could hurry back to his private dormitory beneath 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. "So many people are watching you. You need to present yourself well and demonstrate what a Slytherin third-year who can cast the Patronus Charm looks like. As the first person this year to earn House points, you need to sit properly and maintain Slytherin's distinguished image."
"Naturally," Draco said wearily.
He had to maintain a composed demeanor, sitting at the table with elegant posture, appearing utterly unperturbed like 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 precipitate rain.
"He doesn't appear to be in good spirits," he whispered to Blaise.
"He's repeating a year. He failed a subject." Blaise subtly placed his hand near his nose to conceal his moving mouth.
Draco nodded amiably to Marcus; Marcus nodded back, his expression softening slightly.
At Blaise's urging, Draco consumed a little food, but it tasted bland.
He ignored Dumbledore's address about Dementors and new faculty members—matters he'd heard ad nauseam in his previous life—and instead idly turned his gaze to the staff table, where he suddenly noticed a twitching, hateful expression on Professor Snape's face.
This was a detail Draco hadn't noticed in his previous life.
Even Harry, who'd exploded cauldrons, hadn't aroused Professor Snape's hatred; Professor Lupin, who was about to assume the Defense Against the Dark Arts position, had accomplished it, he thought in astonishment.
He absently cut a steak, tasting it but consuming it without clear purpose. His eyes were occupied observing movements at the staff table, silently pondering the Slytherin Head's thoughts: Did Professor Snape already know Professor Lupin's werewolf identity, or did he simply despise all newcomers who'd assumed Defense Against the Dark Arts positions? Or was there another reason—did Professor Snape and Professor Lupin share a personal grudge?
Even after Professor Dumbledore finished his announcements, Draco still couldn't determine which reason predominated.
Professor Lupin's shabby appearance didn't garner a warm welcome from most students. The evidence was that only scattered, lukewarm applause rang out in the Great Hall, mostly from the Gryffindor students who'd seen Professor Lupin on the train.
After Professor Lupin took his seat, the staff section became lively, with some professors greeting him and obstructing Draco's view.
So he gazed back at Hermione at the Gryffindor table. She finished applauding, enthusiastically poured herself pumpkin juice, and then drank it contentedly, a genuine smile spreading across her face...
He watched her and couldn't help adding some hot pumpkin juice to his own goblet and tasting it.
—It tasted quite good. Draco had finally regained some sense of taste.
In fact, the first feast of the school year was always exceptionally abundant and delicious.
Whilst the table was a chaos of dishes and goblets, the Slytherin students, clutching their stomachs, noisily and unsteadily made their way through the stone wall back to the common room.
"How about we secure another Quidditch Cup for Slytherin?" Draco said to Marcus as they entered the common room one after the other.
This "eighth-year" exuded an aura of "keep away," causing most students to maintain their distance, fearing they might offend him and receive a thrashing.
But Draco wasn't afraid of him; he knew nothing could win Marcus's favor more than Quidditch.
"Absolutely!" Marcus said in a low voice, a smile appearing on his gorilla-like face for the first time that evening.
"Excellent!" He clapped Draco's shoulder with his heavy hand. "I saw you earn points for Slytherin. Brilliant start, very good." After saying this, he didn't linger and strode heavily toward the boys' dormitories.
Poor fellow—repeating a year must have been a tremendous blow to him. Draco watched him depart, unaware that a large group had gathered around him.
"Tell us again what precisely happened today," Adrian Pucey said. Several Quidditch team members had gathered around him, nodding at Draco, apparently very interested in the account.
"Yes, how did you defeat the Dementors?" Daphne Greengrass asked.
"There's nothing remarkable to tell. I haven't fully mastered the spell yet, but the situation was critical at the time..." Draco said lazily, casually settling into an armchair by the fireplace.
After he finished speaking, Millicent Bulstrode asked, "Did that coward Harry Potter truly faint? If Dementors were to patrol the castle one day, would he faint at the slightest provocation?"
At this moment, several Slytherin students began feigning fainting, and laughter rang out around them.
Did fainting indicate cowardice? Draco thought with disgust; these people truly knew nothing about Dementors' capabilities.
"There's nothing amusing, Bulstrode," he said coldly. "If a Dementor attacks you, I don't believe you'll fare much better than him."
Millicent Bulstrode closed her mouth in embarrassment.
"Attack?" Theodore Nott finally spoke, asking a rare question.
"Yes. The Dementor that came to our compartment wasn't merely patrolling; its purpose was to attack," Draco said sternly. "I must warn you that the notion of allowing Dementors into Hogwarts Castle is extraordinarily dangerous, like placing a large bowl of prime beef before a pack of starving dogs. They're unreasonable, and they could attack us at any moment."
The crowd ceased laughing and began whispering.
Slytherins never appreciated feeling endangered.
Draco continued, "It's foolish to joke about Dementors. They're not safe, and any sensible person would want to avoid them. They might attack Harry Potter today, but they could attack you tomorrow."
His calm gaze swept over the surrounding Slytherins—some surprised, some thoughtful—and he said meaningfully, "Be vigilant! Even those who've defeated the Dark Lord are powerless against Dementor attacks. If you yourselves were to face Dementor attacks, how much better would you fare?"
Exhausted, he gave a cold laugh at the crowd, rose, and walked back to his private room, shutting out the silent atmosphere of the common room.