The afternoon sunlight streamed through the cracks of the study's window, scattering warm, golden beams across the wooden desk. Though it was summer, a gentle breeze occasionally drifted in, carrying a trace of coolness.
Inside, Malfoy sat surrounded by towering stacks of books, completely immersed in his studies. He left no page unread, no spell unexamined—whether it was a simple charm or an obscure magical theory.
"The ancients said that cultivation was for longevity," he murmured with a faint smile, "but they never realized that the joy of improvement itself is intoxicating."
With the advantage of his perfect memory, Malfoy felt his mind expand daily, his knowledge deepening with each passing hour. This sense of mastery—of steadily growing understanding—brought him more satisfaction than any indulgence of the senses ever could.
Humans, he reflected, are creatures of short sight. That was why people in his previous life—himself included—had been so addicted to online games. The flashing increase of experience points, the chime of coins entering a virtual backpack—such immediate feedback created an illusion of accomplishment. One small, constant reward after another kept people hooked, trapped in a cycle of shallow satisfaction.
By contrast, real learning demanded patience. Everyone knew study was important, but how many truly persevered? The feedback was too slow, the results too distant. Most gave up long before seeing the fruits of their effort, sinking back into the comfort of short-term pleasure.
But Malfoy no longer worried about forgetting what he learned, and his passion for magic burned bright. He was, at last, a true scholar.
"It seems Felix Felicis really is difficult to brew," he sighed, closing a heavy tome titled Magical Potion Making and Usage.
In his past life, he'd had little interest in "powerful" potions like Polyjuice, but Felix Felicis—the Liquid Luck—had always fascinated him. How could a potion temporarily alter someone's luck? Now that he had the opportunity, he was determined to uncover its secrets. Yet after scouring countless books, the conclusion was clear: even under perfect conditions, the brewing process required rare ingredients and at least six months of careful waiting.
"Still," he thought, "that won't stop me from trying."
Before he could reopen the book, a familiar voice drifted from beyond the door. "Then I'll have to trouble you," said a man, his tone polite but weary.
"It's nothing," Lucius replied smoothly. "Perhaps my boy is even pleased for the company."
A soft knock followed.
Malfoy rose, set aside the book, and opened the door.
"Oh, young Malfoy—we meet again," said Hector, the man from their previous encounter. Lucius stood beside him. "I'm afraid I must ask a small favor of you this time."
Before Malfoy could answer, a small figure stepped out from behind Hector.
Pansy Parkinson.
She looked entirely different from last time. Gone was the dark, gothic attire—today she wore a white dress embroidered with delicate rose patterns. Yellow bows adorned her sleeves, and her crimson boots gleamed softly beneath the hem. In her hands was a small, elegant handbag. If last time she had seemed like a mischievous imp, today she looked like a fairy from a storybook.
"We meet again," she said softly, her eyes flickering with some unreadable emotion.
"You're… most welcome," Malfoy replied awkwardly, bowing slightly. He hadn't expected this at all.
"Ah, those parasites," Hector muttered angrily.
"Which business doesn't have a few?" Lucius answered lightly. "There's no need to lose your temper."
Friendship between pure-blood wizards rarely existed without benefit. Even alliances rested on exchange—favor for favor, coin for coin. The Malfoy fortune, after all, hadn't appeared from thin air. Investments, influence, and carefully calculated ventures filled their ledgers as much as their vaults.
Unfortunately, one such investment of Hector's had recently faltered, and Lucius—one of its backers—was drawn into the mess.
"I'd rather not hand all my Galleons to those goblins at Gringotts," Hector grumbled.
"All right, all right," Lucius said calmly. "Let's not discuss this before the children." Then, turning to Malfoy, he added, "Your uncle and I have urgent business. Pansy can't come with us, so I'll ask you to keep her company for the afternoon. We'll return tonight."
"This girl insisted on coming," Hector sighed, shaking his head. "Now I'll have to trouble you, young one. The situation won't wait—those parasites won't stop until they've bled us dry."
"Be good, Pansy," Hector warned his daughter. "No mischief this time."
"Yes, yes, don't worry," Pansy answered sweetly, though her cheeks flushed pink at the reminder of her last "accident."
"Don't worry, Father, Uncle," Malfoy said earnestly. "I'll take good care of her." He meant it, too—his petty behavior last time still weighed on him.
"Then we'll leave it to you," Lucius said. "Come, Hector. Let's remind those parasites who they're dealing with."
The two men's figures shimmered and vanished into thin air—Apparition.
"So that's Apparition…" Malfoy's eyes shone with fascination. To him, spatial and temporal magic were far more mysterious than destructive curses. Compared to the brute force of a spell like Avada Kedavra, this—manipulating the fabric of space itself—was true power.
After all, even Muggle science had surpassed most magic in terms of destructive ability. A nuclear bomb could make any curse seem trivial. But the ability to travel through space and time—that was something beyond even their wildest science.
"I'm really looking forward to what lies ahead," he whispered. Then, glancing at Pansy, he added wryly, "But first, I need to deal with this little problem."
He took a breath. "About last time—"
Before he could finish, a sharp snap broke the air. Pansy tossed her handbag onto his desk, her earlier shyness gone, replaced by a cold, almost triumphant gaze.
"Go ahead, open it," she said.
Puzzled, Malfoy did as she asked. Inside were several photographs.
His face stiffened.
"I think the Ministry of Magic would be very interested in this evidence," Pansy said sweetly. "I hear some people still doubt your father's acquittal."
The photos showed the title page of Decryption of Cutting-Edge Dark Magic—with Lucius Malfoy's name elegantly signed inside. Others revealed Lucius's own annotations, bold lines and circles marking passages of forbidden research.
"Seems your father's interests are… quite broad," Pansy teased.
Malfoy rubbed his temples. Wonderful. She found the book from the Chamber of Secrets.
Children could be far more troublesome than adults. Adults understood leverage and restraint—but children like Pansy? Who could predict whether she'd actually report this to the Ministry?
"It seems Muggle cameras are still useful after all," she said smugly.
Malfoy's expression didn't change. "All right," he said evenly. "What do you want?"
His calmness seemed to irritate her. She had wanted fear, maybe even an apology. But seeing him so composed, she pouted. "Tch. Boring. Go back to your books, bookworm."
She stomped across the floor, sat down with a huff, and crossed her arms.
"Looks like my favorability rating just dropped to negative numbers," Malfoy thought wryly. Still, she wasn't causing trouble, so he gratefully turned back to his studies.
"If you get bored," he offered casually, "there's a copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard—third shelf, fourth column."
"I don't read silly children's stories!" she snapped instantly.
Malfoy sighed inwardly. Another landmine.
He smiled faintly. "Funny, I only bought it because of Dumbledore. I wonder what he'd think of that review."
Deciding he wouldn't get much studying done today, he set aside his notes. "All right, Miss Parkinson," he said. "What do you want me to do?"
"Hmph." She turned away.
"Fine," he thought. "Time to use my ultimate weapon: cultural diplomacy."
"In a distant Eastern land, long ago," Malfoy began dramatically, "there lived a man named Albert…"
He launched into the famous story of Darco—the Eastern equivalent of Romeo and Juliet.
"This sounds a little interesting," Pansy said after a pause. "Go on."
To his surprise, she listened quietly. Curiosity had overcome pride.
Before long, however, her running commentary began.
"That Albert is such a coward."
"That Smith sounds like a hypocrite—probably as sneaky as you."
Malfoy chuckled helplessly. "It seems my image can't be saved."
When he reached the end—where Albert and Robert turned into butterflies and flew away together—he felt unexpectedly moved. The story reminded him of his childhood and the warmth of home.
He glanced at Pansy. "I don't believe she isn't touched," he thought confidently.
"Is that it?" she asked flatly.
"Yes," he said.
"Heh." She scoffed.
"…That's not the reaction I expected. Aren't girls supposed to like tragic romances?"
Seeing his expression, Pansy couldn't help laughing. "Even though I hate you, your story was good," she admitted. "I just find it funny you made a comedy sound like a tragedy."
Malfoy blinked. "A comedy?"
"Obviously! Albert and Robert were probably Animagi. The whole butterfly thing was just a cover for eloping. Haven't you studied Transfiguration?"
He stared blankly. Different world, different logic…
"But fine," she added. "That was interesting enough. I'll let you tell me another."
"You're really getting into this, aren't you?" he muttered.
He tried another. This time, he told her the tale of Titanic—and immediately regretted it.
"Well," Pansy said thoughtfully, "if Rose hadn't been so fat, maybe both of them could've survived."
Malfoy almost choked.
Undeterred, he changed the subject and told the story of Natasha—a girl who disguised herself as a man to join the army.
"That Natasha is incredible," Pansy said, her eyes lighting up. "Father's always telling me what I can and can't do. Why do girls have to follow so many rules? I'll tell him this story someday."
Malfoy exhaled with relief. At least I didn't lose the face of a transmigrator today.
"But you know," Pansy added with a smirk, "if you were a boy in that story, you'd probably be beaten to death for talking too much."
He rolled his eyes. "Point taken."
"Since your stories were interesting, I'll forgive you—for now," she declared grandly.
"That's a great honor, my lady," he replied dryly.
"But," she continued, "you have to tell me more next time."
He smiled faintly. "All right."
For Malfoy, these stories were more than entertainment. They were memories—threads that still connected him to the world he came from. Retelling them was a way to keep those memories alive.
He grew quiet, lost in thought.
"Hey—Malfoy!" Pansy waved a hand in front of his face. "Are you daydreaming?"
"Sorry," he said quickly.
"Is telling stories to me that boring?" she asked, pouting slightly. Yet her tone had softened; the edge from before was gone.
At that moment, Lucius's smooth voice came from the doorway. "It seems you two are getting along rather well. Pansy didn't cause any trouble, did she?"
"Father! I didn't cause trouble!" Pansy protested immediately, turning sweet again.
"Uncle, I was happy for the company," Malfoy said politely.
Lucius smiled. "Then why don't you both stay for dinner?"
"No, it's late," Hector said, stepping in. "There's still business I must handle. Another day, perhaps."
Lucius nodded, understanding. After exchanging pleasantries, the Malfoys saw them off.
As Pansy climbed into the carriage, she turned and gave Malfoy a quick glance. He caught her meaning instantly.