To welcome her husband, who had finally been discharged from the psychiatric ward of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Narcissa Malfoy, mother of Draco Malfoy, took extra care in preparing for the occasion. She and Draco dressed themselves in formal evening attire and stood at the grand entrance of Malfoy Manor, awaiting Lucius Malfoy's return in a silver-plated carriage.
"Is this… Father?" Draco Malfoy stared at the trembling middle-aged man stepping down from the carriage. Though he had learned from his mother's letters during his time at school that his father had suffered some sort of mental shock due to Harry Potter's second magical outburst, seeing his father's haggard appearance in person still left Draco wide-eyed with disbelief. Could this frail figure, flickering like a candle in the wind, truly be the proud, commanding father he had always known?
"Lucius, are you feeling better?" Narcissa stepped forward to support Lucius Malfoy, her worried gaze fixed on her husband. "I've recently bought some magical items that might help restore your spirit. Perhaps they could…"
"Narcissa, help me inside first," Lucius Malfoy interrupted, rubbing his forehead where a faint ache lingered, his voice heavy with exhaustion.
Unlike the noble, aristocratic demeanor he once exuded, Lucius Malfoy now carried an unmistakable air of weariness. Though he looked far better than he had during Narcissa's visits to the hospital, no amount of luxurious clothing could conceal the listlessness that radiated from him.
"Father, this incident with you and Minister Fudge being hospitalized—was it really just an accidental mental shock from Potter's second magical outburst? Or could it be that Potter, with Dumbledore's help…" Draco trailed after his father, his curiosity bubbling over as he voiced his suspicions.
"Draco," Lucius Malfoy stopped in his tracks, turning to face his son with a stern expression and an unusually grave tone. "Whatever conflicts you've had with Harry Potter in the past, from this moment on, you are forbidden from provoking him again!"
"W-Why, Father?" Draco tilted his head, staring in confusion at the man who suddenly seemed so unfamiliar. "Didn't you always say that Potter was just a boy coasting on some fame and his ancestors' wealth—"
"I underestimated Harry Potter before," Lucius sighed deeply. "I was naive, thinking money could dictate everything. But now I understand that true power lies in strength… whether it's the Dark Lord, Dumbledore, or Harry Potter. In the face of those who wield such immense power, the only reason our Malfoy family still thrives is because they haven't yet decided to crush us. Oh, and Narcissa, I believe it's been years since we last paid the Potter family their patent fees, hasn't it?"
"Lucius, do you mean we should pay the Potter family all those backlogged fees? But to come up with that many Galleons all at once—even for the Malfoy family, it's impossible…" Narcissa frowned. "Unless we sell off some of the Muggle antiques in the house—"
"If we need to sell antiques, then sell them!" Lucius tapped his cane decisively. "And prepare the documents from when the Potter family sold their company to the Malfoys years ago. Narcissa, take them to the Ministry later and transfer the Potter family's company into Harry Potter's name."
"Father?" Draco gaped at the man before him, who seemed to be frantically giving away money—and to Potter, of all people.
"You'll understand my reasoning in time."
Lucius let out another weary sigh. Even now, the memory of that day in Fudge's office sent chills through him. A single glance from Harry Potter had inflicted torment rivaling the Dark Lord's Cruciatus Curse. That boy was undoubtedly the second most powerful wizard in the world, just behind Dumbledore—and one exceptionally skilled in dark magic. Lucius now seriously doubted whether even the Dark Lord, were he still alive, could defeat Harry Potter.
But no matter how powerful Harry Potter might be, Lucius didn't need to dwell on such matters for now. After all, Potter wasn't likely to storm their home anytime soon.
So, after handing his luggage to the servants, Lucius Malfoy entered the manor with his wife and son by his side.
Under the care of a house-elf, he changed into a comfortable robe and made his way to the banquet hall, adorned with portraits of his ancestors. There, he sat with Narcissa and Draco at a long dining table large enough for a dozen people. As Lucius leisurely speared a small piece of steak with his fork, preparing to take a bite, a loud explosion echoed from the direction of the manor's front gate.
"You, go see what's happening," Lucius ordered, pointing at a stooped house-elf.
"Yes, Master," the elf replied with a bow before vanishing with a sharp pop.
Three minutes passed, and the house-elf didn't return.
"Useless," Lucius muttered under his breath before turning to another elf. "You, go check what's going on."
"Yes, Master," the second elf responded with a bow, disappearing with another pop.
Three more minutes ticked by.
"Draco, go see what's happening. You two, accompany the young master," Narcissa instructed, pointing at two other servants.
Five minutes later, no one returned.
By now, neither Lucius nor Narcissa could sit still. When Narcissa helped Lucius to the manor's entrance, they saw a boy with black hair and green eyes sitting on a bench by the gate, chatting cheerfully with a dark-haired, dark-eyed middle-aged man. Around them lay two house-elves, two servants, and Draco Malfoy, all neatly sprawled out on the ground.
"Lucius, it's Black and Potter," Narcissa whispered, her voice tinged with worry as she glanced at her husband. Lucius patted her hand reassuringly.
"Don't worry. If they truly meant us harm, we wouldn't have made it this far unscathed."
Freeing himself from Narcissa's support, Lucius stepped past his unconscious son and approached Harry and Sirius, leaning on his cane. Forcing a smile onto his face, he said, "Mr. Potter, Mr. Black, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"
Harry, who had been bracing himself for another round with Lucius Malfoy, felt as though his punch had landed on cotton. He blinked, caught off guard. Wait, I've already gone this far—your son's lying on the ground, for Merlin's sake! Can't you at least react? You're making this so polite—how am I supposed to justify thrashing you now?
Ten minutes later, Harry and Sirius left Malfoy Manor, both feeling oddly out of sorts. The next day, Harry found himself the chairman of a multinational potion company. On the third day, Hagrid sent a lengthy letter, informing Harry that the Malfoys had dropped their lawsuit against him and Buckbeak. Judging by the large smudges of ink on the parchment, Hagrid had likely been sobbing as he wrote.
On Christmas morning, Harry and Sirius received heaps of gifts. For the first time, Kreacher and Dobby also received Christmas presents of their own—from Harry, Hermione, and Sirius.
"Kreacher can't believe it. Besides Master and Young Master, someone else would give poor Kreacher a gift… but, but…" Kreacher clutched the candy Hermione had given him, his face twisting in conflict. The deep-seated beliefs ingrained in him made him despise "Mudbloods," yet the kindness from one left him unable to spit out the word. That morning, when Hermione called looking for Harry, Kreacher's usual venom was replaced with hesitant phrases like "this young lady" and "that young lady."
After the Christmas holidays, the students returned to Hogwarts on the Hogwarts Express, diving back into their studies.
However, due to the earlier Dementor incident, the school introduced a new mandatory course for fifth-years and above: Patronus Charm lessons. Classes were held in the Great Hall every Saturday evening, taught in rotation by Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, and Sprout.
Harry once wondered why Snape—clearly skilled with the Patronus Charm and a fellow head of house—didn't teach the class. But after asking Snape directly and being brusquely ejected from the Potions office, Harry gave up and turned to Dumbledore instead.
"Oh, no, Harry," Dumbledore replied with a shake of his head when Harry broached the subject. "I promised Professor Snape I'd keep that matter confidential. If he hasn't told you, then neither can I."
The days that followed were uneventful. As usual, Hermione began crafting revision schedules for herself, Harry, and Ron in March. Ron, after solemnly swearing he'd start studying seriously after his birthday, enjoyed a carefree celebration—only to continue slacking afterward, just as Harry and Hermione had predicted.
On pleasant days, Ron roped Dean and Seamus into goofing off and even tried to drag Harry along. Naturally, this sparked a scolding from Hermione. Ron, as expected, bit back with, "Who do you think you are to Harry? Why does he have to follow your every order?"—effectively silencing her next retort.
Watching Hermione sit there, mouth open but words failing her, Ron smirked triumphantly and stood to pull Harry outside.
Harry tugged him back into his seat.
"Ron, Hermione's right," Harry said, prying Ron's hands off his ears and speaking earnestly. "Studying is our priority right now. If you want to play, we've got three whole months after exams. Plus, a decent report card gives you something to show at home. And you wouldn't want George and Fred mocking you all summer, would you?"
The thought of his brothers' relentless teasing lit a spark in Ron's eyes. "Harry, you're right. I should work hard for good grades!"
Five days later, that spark burned out, and Ron returned to his idle ways.
By May, after two months of procrastination, Ron finally panicked. He began spending long hours in the library, despite the warm summer breeze wafting through the windows and the irresistibly perfect weather outside. Harry and Hermione, with their revision well under control, could afford occasional outdoor spell practice, but not Ron, Dean, or Seamus. They were paying the price for their earlier laziness.
Oh, and Neville spent the entire month buried in books too—not because he hadn't tried earlier, but because he couldn't remember anything.
If anyone in the castle was more frantic than Ron and his friends, it was the fifth-years facing their O.W.L.s and the seventh-years preparing for their N.E.W.T.s.
Among them, Percy, nearing his N.E.W.T.s, was especially irritable. As the highest qualification Hogwarts offered, the N.E.W.T.s were critical for Percy's dream of joining the Ministry of Magic. The pressure made him increasingly short-tempered; anyone who disrupted the common room's silence during his study sessions faced his wrath.
But the most stressed person in the school wasn't Percy.
Ever since mid-April, when Hermione had angrily knocked over a crystal ball in Divination and stormed out, her mood had been stuck between fury and anxiety. Even Harry and Ron had accidentally set her off a few times.
After seeing the exam schedule Hermione had made for herself, Ron—knowing full well he'd likely get an earful—couldn't help but ask, "Your exam times… Hermione, are you sure you didn't copy them wrong?"
"What?!" Hermione snatched up her schedule, scrutinizing it several times before declaring, "I didn't copy it wrong!"
"But…" Ron started to protest, only to shrink under her glare.
During recent morning drills, Harry had them spar randomly. Since Neville always challenged Harry, Ron, Dean, and Seamus were left facing an increasingly irritable—and powerful—Hermione. They were soundly trounced every time.
At last, to the students' mingled dread and relief, exam season arrived right on schedule.
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