Chapter Text
1𖥔. The Shrinking of Arrogance:
The dim, cold light of the Slytherin dungeon caught the flickering shadows of the hearth fire against Draco Malfoy's tense face as he stood rigidly over a heavy oak table cluttered with dark volumes and yellowed parchment.
The air was dense, thick with the scent of charred herbs and a sharp undercurrent of raw, unstable magic. Draco was stubbornly attempting an advanced, obscure reverse-scensing charm to reinforce his personal wards-a desperate bid to seal any vulnerabilities others might exploit.
Pansy Parkinson watched cautiously from the side, while Blaise Zabini leaned lazily against the stone wall, a mocking smirk playing on his lips, entirely unbothered by the warnings.
Draco stepped back sharply, gripping his wand with white-knuckled severity, and whipped it through the air with a precise, violent arc as he muttered the complex incantation with forced confidence. But before the silver ribbon of light could even form at his wandtip, Blaise drawled out a lazy, biting remark:
"Careful there, Draco. You might not just singress that slick hair of yours-you might vanish entirely and save us all the constant whining."
Draco snapped his head around in a flash of exaggerated, childish fury to scold him, his concentration shattering for a single, fatal second. The suppressed magical pulse violently rebounded off the stone surface, slammed dead-center into the open manuscript, and ricocheted as a blinding, concentrated white flash that struck Draco square in the chest.
A sharp, sudden shriek echoed through the chamber as scrolls and parchment scattered in every direction. As the blinding glare faded and the thick smoke cleared, Pansy and Blaise scrambled forward in a panic, coughing through the haze.
There was no sign of the usual Malfoy. In his place stood a small boy of no more than seven years old, entirely swallowed by his oversized clothes and the heavy Slytherin robes that pooled around his tiny frame like a massive sack. Worse still, his memory had been entirely wiped past the age of seven; he had no recollection of what had happened, no idea he was a teenage wizard, reduced instead to a literal child-a catastrophic mixture of inherited aristocratic vanity, programmed arrogance, and pure, unfiltered boyhood that he was desperately trying to mask.
Little Draco stared down at his small hands in outraged disbelief, jutting his chin out with stubborn pride despite standing barely a meter tall, before glaring sharply up at Pansy and Blaise. His voice came out high and scathing:
"What is the meaning of this nonsense?! Where am I, and who are you two?"
Blaise choked back a manic laugh that threatened to escape, while Pansy buried her face in her hands in absolute despair, realizing with sudden dread that the true disaster had only just begun.
Left with few options, Pansy argued with Blaise in helpless frustration until a sudden, cunning Slytherin lightbulb went off in her head. With quick, devious resourcefulness, she hatched a plan to salvage the situation before word reached the faculty or Draco was hauled off to the hospital wing-where the forbidden nature of the spell would be exposed instantly.
Pansy instructed Blaise to tell Professor Flitwick that Draco had been hit by a stray hex while walking through the corridor as a prank. Blaise scoffed, warning her that her scheme was bound to fail, but with no backup plan, they marched.
Flitwick bolted upright from behind his desk (standing on his usual wooden block to see eye-to-eye), his eyes widening in a mix of utter astonishment and rising fury:
"A prank?! A full regression hex in a school corridor?! This isn't a mere prank, Miss Parkinson-this is a blatant, completely out-of-control assault! What on earth were you thinking, leaving him exposed to such reckless magic? Where was your common sense?! Naturally, I must inform the Headmaster immediately and open a thorough investigation into every student involved!"
Pansy cursed under her breath, stepped forward, and swallowed hard through manufactured nervousness. With a trembling, pathetic lilt in her voice, she pleaded:
"Please, Professor... don't! Lucius... Lucius Malfoy, his father, would die of grief if he found out! This happened because of... a minor accident while he was avoiding a potential hex from another student! If his father discovers that his only son has been reduced to a child due to some careless mishap within the walls of Hogwarts, he'll fly into a fury and threaten to sue the entire school, sparking a massive scandal for the Ministry of Magic! We only... we only wanted to prevent a public scandal and handle it ourselves out of concern for his family's reputation and his safety."
Flitwick stood tall on his wooden block, bristling with indignation as he eyed them with deep suspicion. Yet the heavy drop of the Malfoy name and the specter of a political scandal clearly shook his resolve. He pressed his lips together in a tight, angry line, drew his wand sharply, and snapped:
> "I shall examine him myself first to see the extent of the disaster you've caused!"
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He flicked his wand over the head of little Draco-who was crossing his tiny arms in a huff, stubbornly refusing to sit-sending a shower of minute blue and violet sparks rippling through the boy's magical aura. Flitwick stepped back, his stern expression melting into profound shock and deep anxiety. He cleared his throat quietly and said:
> "I have checked the records of counter-curses, but... I am afraid this unknown hex is tied to his weekly magical energy stabilization cycle, or what is known as temporary forced regression. The spell hasn't merely altered him physically; it has 'reset' his biological age and magical genetics to match early childhood. Trying to force it away now, or administering a quick-acting antidote, would trigger magical burnout or permanent memory loss! The only safe recourse is to allow his body to absorb the residual magic and dismantle it very gradually, in tandem with the lunar cycles and his biological rhythm... and that will require a full month for him to grow back to his normal size piece by piece."
Blaise and Pansy let out synchronized sighs of relief, while little Draco glared up at Flitwick, his high-pitched voice dripping with indignation:
"And stop addressing me with such absurd terms, you short man! I am a Malfoy, and I will not sit here for an entire month!"
Professor Flitwick sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose in sheer defeat at the sheer audacity of a child who had literally inherited the Malfoy arrogance in miniature. He looked sternly down at Pansy and Blaise:
"Given that his condition requires absolute stability without triggering panic or rumors among the students, he will remain with you in the Slytherin dormitories. He may attend meals in the Great Hall normally to maintain a semblance of routine, but I warn you-any trouble, or any unwanted attention, will mean my immediate intervention and a full disciplinary inquiry. You are entirely responsible for him this month."
Blaise groaned quietly, crossing his arms with a heavy sigh, while Pansy let out an anxious breath and hurried to grab the hand of little Draco. The boy immediately began to fuss and scold her fiercely for touching him, demanding she let go at once because he was perfectly capable of walking like a true aristocrat on his own.
With that, he marched ahead of them with quick, haughty strides, thrusting his chin high into the air with immense pride as he awkwardly dragged his feet to keep pace with the massive dungeon flagstones, entirely ignoring his tiny stature and the heavy cloak trailing behind and tripping his small boots.
Pansy raised a brow at his ongoing protests, turned back to Blaise, and muttered:
"We need to get him proper clothes. I can't watch him trip over his own robes like a miniature ghost at every single step."
Blaise offered a dry, sarcastic smirk, letting out a quiet huff:
"Go ahead and try it yourself. But I warn you-he'll chuck the first garment right back at your head and scream that it violates his family's sartorial standards."
Pansy sighed heavily as she watched his long cloak catch under his feet once more, turning back to Blaise with an exhausted look:
"I don't care if he screams or throws a fit. Do you want him wandering the halls of Hogwarts tripping over clothes ten sizes too big? He looks like an absolute farce, and that's the one thing Malfoy pride cannot survive in its current state."
Blaise folded his arms, a mocking smile tugging at his lips:
"Listen to me: pick out something modest, and I'll enjoy the theatrical show when he rejects piece number one and insists it doesn't meet the family's threshold of luxury. Remember, he's still got the exact same sharp tongue, even if he's currently the size of a Goblin-made doll."
Before they could finish murmuring, little Draco whipped around, his eyes wide with outrage, and pointed an accusatory finger:
"I hear every word you're saying! And I will not wear whatever ragged rubbish you two scavenge for me! My wardrobe... is tailored exclusively from the finest fabrics in London, and I will not lower myself to random garbage!"
By the time they reached the threshold of the dormitory corridor, however, Draco had been forced into actual child-sized garments suited to his new proportions: a dark emerald shirt paired with short trousers that left his small legs exposed in a manner utterly offensive to every aristocratic tenet he held sacred.
His face twisted in deep resentment, his eyes blazing with furious resentment as he folded his arms over his diminutive chest and burst into an indignant, high-pitched childish tirade:
"But... I am wearing... my Slytherin cloak!"
Blaise replied in a flat, deadpan tone, arms still crossed over his chest:
"They don't make cloaks in a toddler's size, Draco."
The moment the word "toddler" registered in his ears, he exploded with wrath, violently clawing at his fair hair and launching into a rapid stream of childish complaints and clipped insults that his small tongue struggled to properly articulate.
Pansy exhaled a long-suffering breath, eyeing Blaise with a pinched expression:
"Merlin... this is impossible. We've created a monster out of his own ego! And gods... what is his palate going to be like now? I doubt he'll accept standard Great Hall fare!"
Blaise raised an eyebrow with dry amusement, answering in a calm undertone:
"Expect the worst. Instead of whining about politics and his father's board meetings, we're going to end up with him weeping because his broth lacks the precise grade of seasoning or because the vegetables are touching his pudding."
Catching wind of their murmurs, Draco furrowed his small brow in fierce annoyance and raised his voice sharply:
"I can hear you perfectly well! And I will not consume any... any repulsive swill you place before me! I eat exclusively dishes prepared under strict supervision, and don't you dare put cheap scraps anywhere near my plate!"
Despite all his furious protests and the continuous scolding he muttered all the way, Draco eventually found himself trailing behind them toward the Great Hall for dinner.
The hall was abuzz with student chatter, and the moment they walked in, dozens of curious eyes snapped toward them-a small child in strange clothes flanked by two senior Slytherins. Despite his desperate attempts to project regal indifference with a rigid, haughty chin, genuine panic flickered across his childish features, and instinctively, his tiny hand shot out to clutch tightly at the hem of Blaise's robes, partially shielding himself behind the older boy while puffing out his cheeks in an angry effort to mask his disorientation.
Draco was forced to sit between Pansy and Blaise at the Slytherin table, tucking his small limbs onto the bench and darting suspicious glances to evade the prying stares from neighboring tables. At that exact moment, Theodore Nott ambled over, studying the small boy with narrowed, skeptical eyes before asking bluntly:
"Wait a minute... isn't that Draco? His features, his voice, even that utterly miserable scowl... he looks identical to him!"
Pansy visibly stiffened, her hand trembling slightly as she fumbled with her goblet, rushing out a flustered cover story while instinctively shifting her arm in a protective barrier before Draco:
"Oh-no! Of course not, Theodore... he's simply... a distant junior relation of the Malfoy family, yes! Sent to us under urgent circumstances."
Theodore arched a brow higher with suspicion, narrowing his gaze at the boy whose cheeks were blazing red with fury at being labeled a "junior relation," and pressed further:
"Relatives? I've never heard a whisper of a child this age in their line. So... where is the real Draco hiding?"
Pansy fell entirely silent, devoid of any plausible escape hatch from the lie, while she flicked a wide-eyed, frantic look toward Blaise begging for rescue.
Wrath flared hot in Draco's chest; he could no longer bear this blatant disrespect in silence. He shoved his fork down onto the table with a clatter, twisted around to face Theodore despite his diminished height, and snapped with a sharp, piercing, childish lilt:
"I am right here, you absolute idiot! Cease your gaping and don't you dare refer to me as anyone's junior relation!"
An abrupt, stunned silence fell over the immediate expanse of the table. Theodore froze, his eyes widening in utter disbelief as he stared back and forth between the furious pint-sized boy and the pale, horrified faces of Pansy and Blaise. Meanwhile, Pansy squeezed her eyes shut in despair, whispering under her breath:
"We're finished... he exposed himself."
Theodore remained rooted in place, swallowing hard as he tried to process the surreal scene. Before any other Slytherins could catch wind of the exchange or press further questions, Blaise swiftly clamped a firm hand down on little Draco's shoulder, pressing down just enough to force him back onto the bench, and hissed a fierce warning near his ear:
> "Keep your mouth shut right now, Draco, unless you fancy the entire castle knowing your secret!"
Draco jerked away from his grip in a huff, folding his miniature arms and huffing with intense grievance. Pansy scrambled to salvage the wreckage, turning to a still-dazed Theodore with a voice she forced to sound effortless:
"Well-fine, Theodore... we wished to keep it confidential to spare the Malfoy name from being ridiculed over this absurd curse he contracted, so... do breathe a word of this to anyone, and you'll see what happens!"
Theodore narrowed his eyes, still clearly unconvinced, but gave a slow, reluctant nod as he cast one last mocking, bewildered glance at Draco-who was currently trying, with monumental futility, to project total dignity while wearing shorts and a childish tunic.
Across the hall, sitting a few meters away at the Gryffindor table, Hermione Granger observed the scene with sharp, analytical eyes before nodding with absolute certainty and murmuring to her companions:
"Yes... it's definitely him. There's no mistaking that level of arrogance, even when shrunken in half."
Harry shook his head, watching Draco's desperate, comical attempts to project grand authority despite his height and childish attire, and offered a dry, amused smile:
"He really does look quite ridiculous like that."
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Hey guys⭐
I posted this purely on a whim because I was bored, completely not planning on turning it into a full thing. If you guys like it and want a continuation--> Imk I promise it'll be good, and I actually pay attention to all the details writers usually sleep on.