"I really couldn't get over it," Draco said before stuffing the last Chocolate Frog into his mouth.
"You've really changed, y'know," Vincent mumbled, the words barely escaping through the chocolate he was hoarding in his own mouth.
Draco side-eyed him. "Changed how?"
They kept walking. Snow crunched under their shoes. It was fresh, shallow, still soft. The wind wasn't brutal, but it had teeth—just enough to make them tuck their hands into their pockets, even if they pretended not to care.
Today was their first Hogsmeade visit of the year.
Officially, only third-years and up were allowed to go, provided their parent or guardian had signed the form. It made it feel like one of those odd grown-up-lite milestones. Like getting your first wand. Or your first shave.
Didn't mean much, but it still sort of did.
"You don't go after Potter anymore," Gregory said, finally speaking as though he'd been holding onto the thought for a while.
Vincent nodded, slower this time. "Yeah… that used to be your whole thing. Like your personal hobby."
Draco didn't answer straight away. He just watched his boots sink into the snow with each step. It was easier than looking at them.
Because they weren't wrong.
Last year, he'd fire off insults at Potter like clockwork. Snide jabs, dumb pranks, constant shade. And now?
Now he kept his distance like Potter had dragon pox.
They thought it was weird.
If only they knew how deep the weird truly went.
Because the Draco they were talking about—the petty, proud, attention-hungry brat who saw Potter as his personal rival?
He didn't exist anymore.
Not since the day someone else had woken up in his body. Someone who didn't give a damn about House points, family name politics, or the fact that Harry hadn't shaken his hand back in first year.
Vincent broke the silence again, this time more carefully. "You scared of Black or something?"
Crabbe gave a slow nod, like the idea had only just caught up with him. "Yeah… must be it, right? Never know when Potter's gonna get jumped. Could be any day now."
Draco snorted, finally speaking again. "If I was scared of Black, I wouldn't be walking around in the open eating sweets like a moron, would I?"
Vincent and Gregory glanced at each other, then nodded like that actually made sense.
"Then why?" Vincent asked.
Draco shrugged. "Because I don't have time to waste on Potter anymore. Last two years, our Defence Against the Dark Arts classes were about as effective as a troll with a wand. This year, I plan to actually study."
He said it casually, as if it were just a logical shift. A practical decision.
And it was.
"Yes, my father said he'll be starting my training soon," Vincent added, his voice unusually serious for once.
"Mine too," Gregory chimed in with a nod. "Said it's time to learn what it really means to be a Goyle."
Draco glanced at them, keeping his expression neutral.
Future Lords of their Houses. He supposed it made sense.
The training had already begun before Hogwarts, of course—etiquette, bloodline history, how to stand straight even when terrified—but now it was being taken up a notch. Now that their magic had settled, now that their minds were sharp enough to understand politics, power, and the weight of legacy, the real lessons were about to begin.
"You're not worried?" Draco asked, genuinely curious.
Vincent shrugged, though there was a flicker of something uneasy behind his eyes. "It's just… what's expected, isn't it? We've got the name. Comes with the responsibility."
Gregory gave a slow nod. "Better us than someone who'd drag it through the mud."
Draco gave a small hum in response. He understood. Sort of.
They were preparing for a future tied to titles, responsibilities, and the burden of legacy. A world of whispered alliances, silent rivalries, and expectations that didn't come with written rules, only consequences.
He knew he needed to understand it too. Without the power to make decisions in wizarding society, he wouldn't be able to deal with the other side.
So he gave them a simple nod. "Makes sense."
Vincent gave a short laugh. "You'll probably have it worse than us. Your dad's… well, your dad."
Draco smirked faintly, hands buried in his coat pockets. "Yeah. I'm well aware."
His father's reputation spoke for itself. Sharp, uncompromising, with expectations heavier than the family crest.
Draco didn't care much for the man.
Still, he wasn't naïve.
Lucius held the reins, for now. Influence, access, the old networks of pure-blood power. Draco would need all of it before he could step out from under the shadow and take control for himself.
Patience was going to be part of the game.
"Let's go. I've got some things to buy," he said, already moving towards the shops, thinking not just about Hogsmeade, but about the long road ahead. The one that led far beyond the snow-covered village.
**********
Magic ideas