Hogwarts: I Am Such a Model Wizard

“Not bad, Harry…”

In Potions class after Halloween, Slughorn examined the cauldron in front of Harry, a hint of surprise flickering across his face.

“The color is perfect, and the smell is impeccable. I daresay even the grumpiest creature—like a dragon—would calm down after just three drops of your Draught of Peace.”

“Thank you, sir,” Harry said, unable to hide his excitement. “So I passed?”

“Passed? Are you joking?” Slughorn exclaimed theatrically. “This is a perfect potion, no doubt about it. Ten points to Gryffindor!”

Harry was so thrilled he nearly jumped up. For the first time in six years, he had earned extra credit in Potions, and for a fleeting moment, Slughorn seemed far more likable.

“I always knew you must have inherited your mother’s exceptional talent for Potions. You just never had Severus to help you develop it,” Slughorn said with a smile. “Keep up the good work—I look forward to seeing what you do next class.”

Harry nodded eagerly.

Beside him, Hermione let out a sharp huff through her nose.

She had also finished her potion, and while hers was only a shade lighter than Harry’s, the comparison made that minor flaw seem glaringly obvious.

Slughorn glanced at her cauldron, gave a noncommittal remark about it being good, and moved on.

That only made Hermione even angrier.

“You’re cheating!” she snapped after class. “You shouldn’t keep relying on those notes.”

“It’s just a book of notes—how is that cheating?” Harry countered. “And it’s not like there’s anything wrong with the instructions.”

“But you didn’t figure it out on your own.”

“You use the textbook too—what’s the difference?” Ron interjected, siding with Harry.

“Think about Kanna the Potioneer—the youngest member of the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers. Even she agrees the notes can’t be wrong.”

“But—” Hermione started, searching for another argument.

“Wait, Hermione, you’re not jealous of Kyle, are you?” Ron’s voice rose slightly.

“Why would I be jealous of him?” Hermione retorted, her voice sharp.

“Oh, come on—you’re jealous that his grades are better than yours and that he’s discovered all these little tricks you don’t know yet,” Ron said, growing more confident in his theory. “You should give it a try. After all, the book was written by other wizards, and in a few years, these same tips might be included in the updated version.”

“Remember what Kyle said? Advanced Potion-Making hasn’t been revised in ages—lots of the procedures are outdated.”

Hermione took a deep breath, saying nothing.

Ron took her silence as an admission that she realized she was wrong and, unconcerned, turned back to Harry, continuing their discussion about the notes.

“It’s weird—I’m following the instructions exactly, but my results still aren’t as good as yours.”

“That’s because you’re not focusing enough,” Harry pointed out. “The size of the flame when brewing potions is really important. I remember you added the Moonstone powder and then got distracted talking to Seamus—you completely forgot to turn the fire down.”

“Oh… yeah, that does sound right,” Ron admitted. “But why didn’t you remind me?”

“I only just realized it myself.”

“Ah, well, no big deal,” Ron laughed. “Tell me, if I keep brewing potions according to the notes, do you think Slughorn will invite me to his Christmas party too?”

“Of course he will,” Harry said.

Though his instincts told him that a couple of good Potions grades wouldn’t be enough to change Slughorn’s opinion of Ron, he decided it was better not to crush his hopes.

Encouraged by Harry’s response, Ron grew even more excited, his voice rising enthusiastically.

“Are you pleased with yourself, Weasley? Think getting an invitation from Slughorn makes you famous now?”

A cold voice came from behind them.

“Maybe you should get a nice, ugly scar on your forehead—then you might be as popular as Potter and his little fan club.”

Laughter erupted around them.

“We didn’t seem to be talking to you, Malfoy,” said Harry with a scowl. “I noticed you weren’t at the last ball. Why, weren’t you invited?”

“Maybe Professor Slughorn doesn’t know any Malfoys,” Ron added, smirking as he stoked the tension.

“Do you think you’re funny?” Malfoy’s expression turned icy. “Even if he had invited me, I wouldn’t go to his stupid, boring party.”

“You’re just jealous of us,” Ron scoffed, leaning back with a grin. “You must be mad with envy.”

“Jealous of you?” Malfoy snapped, his voice rising as if he’d just been gravely insulted. “You probably don’t know this, Weasley, but every year at Christmas, my family throws a ball.”

“Oh, that’s right, I almost forgot—you wouldn’t know anything about that. The guests we invite are all from high society. Pure-blood traitors like your family wouldn’t even dream of getting an invitation.”

Then, as if for emphasis, Malfoy turned his sneering gaze to Hermione.

“And of course, Mudbloods wouldn’t be allowed in my house either.”

“Shut up, you bastard!” Harry’s fists clenched, and he lunged forward, ready to swing at Malfoy, but Hermione quickly grabbed him from behind, pulling him back.

“Don’t do it, Harry! If a professor sees you, you’ll be expelled!” Hermione pleaded, her voice high with urgency.

“I don’t care!” Harry snarled, fists still swinging as he tried to shake her off. “Let go of me, Hermione—I have to punch him today!”

But Hermione tightened her grip, refusing to release him.

On the other side, Ron was also trying to charge at Malfoy, but a few nearby Gryffindors intervened, grabbing hold of him before he could get across.

It wasn’t that they feared trouble—they would’ve happily seen Malfoy get what was coming to him—but they all knew that Crabbe and Goyle were standing right behind Malfoy, towering like overgrown trolls. If Ron went over there, it wouldn’t end well for him.

Malfoy, seeing their restrained fury, smirked triumphantly. Now flanked by Crabbe, Goyle, and a crowd of Slytherins, he felt invincible.

He opened his mouth to throw out another insult—but just then, a balloon filled with liquid came soaring through the air and smashed directly onto his head.

With a loud splatter, the dark brown liquid drenched Malfoy’s meticulously groomed hair, dripping down his face and clothes. A sharp, sour stench immediately filled the corridor.

“It’s… vinegar…” someone murmured, wrinkling their nose as they instinctively stepped back, covering their face. Even Crabbe and Goyle shuffled a step away from the reeking Malfoy.

Malfoy stood frozen, utterly stunned, his mouth agape as dark liquid dripped down his chin.

“Ho ho ho… Do you like your new haircut… ho ho ho…”

A high-pitched cackle echoed through the corridor as Peeves swooped down from above, holding his stomach as he doubled over with laughter.

“Well done, Peeves!” Harry shouted, grinning up at the poltergeist.

The day before, Harry had assumed Peeves had been caught and punished by Slughorn, but clearly, that wasn’t the case. Not only had Peeves escaped, but he’d managed to deliver the kind of vengeance Harry hadn’t even dared to imagine.

Seeing Malfoy drenched in vinegar was far more satisfying than punching him could ever have been. Harry would’ve clapped if Hermione wasn’t still holding his arms down.

Malfoy, however, didn’t share Harry’s amusement. As the sour stench overwhelmed him, his face contorted with rage, his body trembling with fury.

“Peeves, I’ll kill you!” Malfoy roared angrily, but as he shouted, a few drops of vinegar trickled into his mouth, along with his soaked hair, instantly draining the color from his face.

He dared not speak further, clenching his lips tightly. Instead, he pulled out his wand, ready to teach Peeves a lesson. Everyone expected Peeves to dart away, just as he usually did, but to their surprise, Peeves seized the moment. Not only did he stay, but he also dropped an even larger vinegar-filled balloon directly onto Malfoy.

The balloon burst spectacularly upon impact with Malfoy’s outstretched wand, which had punctured it. A massive cloud of vinegar erupted, splashing everywhere. This time, nearly everyone nearby was caught in the fallout. Malfoy, standing closest, bore the worst of it.

But the horror wasn’t over. This time, the vinegar wasn’t just sour—it reeked of something far worse. Whatever Peeves had mixed into it was nauseating.

“Ugh!” Malfoy gagged, clutching his stomach instinctively. Before he could recover, his wand was suddenly snatched out of his hand.

“You stop right there, Peeves!” he shouted, his anger now overriding any concern about the stench clinging to him. Without hesitation, Malfoy took off after the mischievous poltergeist.

The onlookers were stunned. By the time they processed what had happened, Malfoy was already halfway down the corridor, chasing Peeves at full speed.

“Draco!” Crabbe and Goyle shouted, stumbling after him, their bulky forms making their pursuit awkward and slow.

“Hahaha, did you see that, Harry? Malfoy was hilarious just now,” Ron said, laughing so hard he had to clutch his sides. “Good job, Peeves!” he added loudly, giving the nearby Slytherins a defiant smirk.

The Gryffindors now outnumbered the remaining Slytherins, so Ron, emboldened, stood his ground confidently.

“Alright, Ron, let’s get out of here,” Hermione said sharply, wrinkling her nose. “It smells awful.”

Ron took an absentminded breath, immediately regretting it as he coughed and gagged. “Peeves must have put a Dungbomb in the vinegar,” he said with grim certainty. “I didn’t think anyone would be that disgusting—well, not since Fred and George left, anyway.”

Harry laughed, but Hermione was already ushering them down the corridor. “Come on, we need to move. The smell is bound to attract Filch, and if he catches us here, we won’t hear the end of it.”

The three quickened their pace, leaving the lingering stench behind as they headed toward the Gryffindor common room to change before dinner.

“Do you think Malfoy will get his wand back?” Harry asked curiously as they climbed the stairs.

“I hope not,” Ron said. “It’d be brilliant if Peeves hid it somewhere no one could ever find it. Or better yet, snapped it in half.”

“That’s impossible,” Hermione interjected. “Don’t forget, this is a school. The professors wouldn’t let Peeves take a student’s wand without stepping in.”

“Peeves is scared of the professors. He wouldn’t dare go too far,” she added with finality.

“Shame,” Ron muttered under his breath.

Harry couldn’t help but agree.

…

Meanwhile, Malfoy had chased Peeves all the way to the second floor. Although he ran as fast as he could, Peeves, being able to fly, effortlessly avoided him. It was unclear whether Peeves was evading him out of genuine effort or just playing with him.

Malfoy, however, was too consumed by his anger to notice. His fury blinded him to everything but the burning desire to retrieve his wand and exact revenge on the mischievous poltergeist. From the sixth floor to the second, Malfoy pursued Peeves relentlessly, but the gap between them only grew.

“You can’t run anymore? Tsk, that’s no fun,” Peeves jeered, hovering mid-air as he observed Malfoy panting heavily, his energy depleted. Losing interest in the chase, Peeves casually threw the wand aside. “I’ll give it back to you,” he said dismissively before disappearing around a corner, leaving Malfoy seething.

“I’ll make sure Professor Snape hears about this! He’ll have you expelled from the school!” Malfoy shouted after him, his voice trembling with frustration. But there was no response; Peeves was long gone.

Still cursing under his breath, Malfoy began scanning the floor for his wand. It didn’t take long for him to spot it lying near the door of a Store Cupboard at the end of the corridor. The door itself was slightly ajar, creaking softly as he reached out to retrieve his wand. Malfoy barely paid attention to the cupboard at first, but as he straightened up, wiping his wand clean, something inside caught his eye.

A cabinet stood just inside the door, its height nearly reaching Malfoy’s own. The intricate golden patterns etched across its surface gleamed faintly, even in the dim light of the corridor. His heart skipped a beat, and a wave of excitement surged through him. He had been searching for something like this for days, and here it was, hidden in plain sight.

“Draco!” Crabbe and Goyle’s labored voices called out as they finally caught up, red-faced and gasping for breath.

“Where’s the…damn…poltergeist?” Crabbe huffed, clutching his side.

“Forget about the poltergeist,” Malfoy snapped, his attention fixed on the cabinet. “You two—carry this cabinet out of here!”

Crabbe and Goyle exchanged puzzled glances before turning their attention to the cabinet. Their confusion deepened as they stared at the worn, broken piece of furniture.

“Draco…you’re not serious, are you?” Goyle muttered hesitantly. “It’s just a broken cabinet. If you want one, you could just buy a new—”

“What do you know?” Malfoy interrupted sharply, his voice brimming with authority. “This isn’t just any cabinet. This is a treasure.”

“A treasure?” Crabbe repeated skeptically, frowning. To him, it was hard to see anything valuable in what looked like a worthless, broken piece of wood. Surely Malfoy was losing his grip on reality.

“You idiots, just do as I say!” Malfoy barked. He reached out and ran his fingers gently over the golden lines on the cabinet, a triumphant look spreading across his face. He recognized it immediately.

This was the Vanishing Cabinet. There was no doubt in his mind.

Memories from his first year at Hogwarts rushed back. Back then, he had been wandering the castle with a magic map on a weekend, intrigued by its ability to reveal hidden locations.

He had stumbled upon a dark, dusty Store Cupboard and accidentally bumped into this very cabinet, hitting his head hard enough to make him worry he might end up with a scar like Potter’s. He remembered it vividly because of the panic it had caused him at the time.

At the time, he had thought it was just an ordinary cabinet. It wasn’t until recently, during a visit to Borgin and Burkes, that he had seen another cabinet with identical golden patterns and realized what it truly was—a Vanishing Cabinet. And the two cabinets were almost certainly a pair.

Excited by the discovery, Malfoy had returned to Hogwarts determined to find it. But to his dismay, it seemed to have disappeared. He had searched high and low, convinced someone had moved or taken it. He had almost given up hope—until now.

He must have remembered the location incorrectly. After all, five years was a long time, and memories could fade. But here it was. And it was his.

“Careful with it,” Malfoy commanded as Crabbe and Goyle hesitantly approached the cabinet. “This cabinet is extremely important. It concerns… that person. If you damage it, you’ll regret it!”

The mention of the Dark Lord was enough to silence their grumbling. Though resentful, the two of them dutifully began moving the cabinet out of the Store Cupboard, grunting under its weight.

Malfoy turned to glance in the direction Peeves had disappeared, and a smirk spread across his face. He couldn’t help but laugh.

“Draco, what are you laughing at?” Crabbe asked, bewildered.

“I’m laughing at Peeves,” Malfoy replied, his voice laced with satisfaction. “He thinks he’s tricked me. But he’s actually done me a huge favor. If I’m right, this cabinet will allow him to enter Hogwarts with ease.”

His excitement was palpable now. “And I’ll be the one to take the credit. Mark my words, Peeves won’t get away with this. I’ll find him, and I’ll make sure I kill him!”

Crabbe and Goyle exchanged uneasy glances. A broken cabinet that could let someone into Hogwarts? Killing a poltergeist? They looked at Malfoy, who reeked of vinegar and was speaking with a manic gleam in his eyes. Then they looked at each other.

The same thought was written plainly on both their faces: Malfoy’s completely lost it.