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Chapter 73
"Habitual thinking really is dangerous," Draco reflected inwardly as he chatted with Fleur.
If he had met her at Hogwarts during his fourth year, he would have recognized her instantly based on his familiarity with the original storyline. But now, he had encountered her two years earlier than expected.
For example, if Sirius Black had suddenly escaped Azkaban during Draco's first year, he would probably have seen him as nothing more than a tall, thin man with stubble—never imagining that he was a crucial figure in the plot.
More importantly, Fleur herself was two years younger than when she had first appeared in the Triwizard Tournament. Adolescent girls changed quickly.
"The butterfly effect is finally starting to show its influence," Draco thought.
The plot had already shifted, and he needed to make use of the time he had.
The butterfly effect was far better than the so-called paint effect.
He had always planned to change history.
When a bucket of paint was poured into a tributary of the river of time, it would be diluted again and again as the stream split and rejoined, until its color vanished entirely—and history returned to its original course.
That was the most helpless form of despair.
"Why did you come to England?" Draco asked casually. "Just travelling?"
Fleur didn't think too deeply about it and replied naturally, "Madame Maxime is our headmistress." She tilted her head, thinking for a moment. "It seems Professor Dumbledore sent her an invitation. He said there were matters that needed to be discussed face-to-face. She thought bringing me along would be good training, so she allowed me to come."
After a pause, she added, "And I wanted to practise my English."
"The Triwizard Tournament?" Draco thought to himself before saying aloud, "Then it sounds like you're held in quite high regard."
Unexpectedly, this casual remark made Fleur's expression dim slightly.
"Perhaps," she said softly.
Both Madame Maxime and Fleur were of mixed heritage. In mainstream wizarding society—especially in France—this was no longer something openly discriminated against. Still, some burdens were harder to escape than prejudice itself.
Madame Maxime, for instance, vehemently denied her giant ancestry. Perhaps that was also part of why giants carried such a poor reputation.
Sometimes Fleur felt proud of her heritage. Other times, she felt inferior. Human emotions were never simple.
"So this is empathy," Draco realized.
Sensing the shift in mood, he quickly changed the subject, telling Fleur a few jokes he remembered from his previous life. They were harmless, absurd stories, but effective. Fleur struggled several times to suppress her laughter, pressing her lips together and keeping her posture perfectly proper. The effort only made it harder, and Draco burst out laughing at the sight of her struggle.
"What are you laughing at?" Fleur asked, half embarrassed and half annoyed, already having difficulty holding back her own laughter.
"I just think it's exhausting to live behind a mask," Draco replied honestly.
The words surprised even himself. Wasn't he doing exactly that?
The atmosphere grew awkward. Both of them fell silent, mechanically scooping up the remaining ice cream.
It was Fleur who finally broke the silence.
"Whether it's hard or not, it's still a choice," she said quietly. "There's nothing to complain about. Taking off the mask doesn't necessarily make you happier."
Draco nodded in agreement.
Just as the atmosphere eased again, Fleur glanced out the window and noticed the darkening sky. She suddenly came back to herself.
"I'm sorry—I have to leave," she said, standing up. "Madame Maxime and I arranged to meet at a Muggle train station."
She reached into her elegant purse, intending to pay the bill—only to realize Draco was already standing beside Florean Fortescue, placing two gold Galleons on the counter.
"I said I'd treat," Draco said, stopping her gently. "If you had enough money in your purse, I wouldn't object—but you don't."
Fleur froze, then remembered why she had gone to Gringotts in the first place.
She hadn't managed to withdraw any money at all.
Looking at the few remaining silver Sickles in her purse, she sighed helplessly.
"Since you have somewhere to be, I'll head off as well," Draco said. "My father is quite familiar with the old man we met earlier. My mother has probably already heard about the Gringotts incident, so I should return."
With that, he turned and strode out without looking back.
"Arthur—!"
Everything happened too quickly. Fleur reached out instinctively, but Draco's figure had already vanished into the crowd of Diagon Alley.
She bit her lip in frustration.
"Why am I always too embarrassed to say anything?" she scolded herself.
Nearly penniless and bound to a meeting time arranged by Madame Maxime, she wondered if she would have to walk the entire way. Annoyed, she glanced back into her purse—
—and froze.
Several gold Galleons lay quietly inside, gleaming softly. Along with them was a small folded note.
> I'll consider this an advance for the meal you'll treat me to next time we meet.
Your best option now is the Knight Bus. Just leave Diagon Alley, hold out the hand you usually use for your wand, and tell the conductor where you want to go.
If you choose Floo powder, the money in your purse should be enough—but I'm worried about your accent, so I don't recommend it.
Finally, I wish you a safe journey.
These are done in a hurry so translation may not be good
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Fleur stared at the note for a long time.
Another point had been added to Draco's image in her heart.
"He really is a gentleman," she thought.
If she ever learned the truth, she might think otherwise.
After all—what kind of gentleman gave a lady a fake name?
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