"Hogwarts. I wish to remain closer to Mother so I may return home for Christmas." He looked at Narcissa, attempting to adopt an innocent and endearing expression, and successfully received his father's disapproving glance from the corner of his eye.
Lucius was frowning slightly. He worried about his son's tendency toward homesickness, or rather, he worried that his son might intrude upon the private world he shared with his wife.
Father, your unreasonably stern expression no longer frightens me.
I know you love me, even if it is merely a fraction as small as a Knut. Draco thought calmly, though he maintained an innocent appearance.
He added: "And Professor Snape will look after me, will he not? He is the Head of Slytherin, the Potions Master, and exceptionally skilled in the Dark Arts. I wish for him to teach me more..."
Lucius suddenly realized he appeared to have no grounds for refusal.
After breakfast, Narcissa swept briskly from the dining room, evidently satisfied with the conversation's conclusion. Draco suspected she was heading to the study to reply to the letter confirming his Hogwarts admission.
Lucius remained by the dining table, his expression cold, addressing his eleven-year-old son sternly: "Do not constantly act like a spoiled child with your mother. It is utterly disgraceful. You are not a child any longer! Also, since you are studying away from home, you should demonstrate respect for me—"
He leaned over Draco, his tall frame appearing imposing compared to Draco's slight build. "A proper Malfoy must uphold the family's honor. Excel at school! If I do not hear that you are studying diligently, do not even consider returning home for Christmas."
Draco met his father's gaze quietly, finally saying, "Yes, Father."
Lucius looked into his son's pale grey eyes, which unusually contained no panic or fear, but rather a glimmer of satisfaction.
This was puzzling. He cleared his throat somewhat awkwardly and said, "Tomorrow, your mother and I shall take you to Diagon Alley to purchase your school supplies. Consider what else you require and we can acquire everything tomorrow." With that, he strode away, twirling his serpent-head cane.
Draco remained alone, smiling faintly at the extra chocolate pudding before him. His father remained so awkward.
Draco recalled having a nearly identical conversation with his father at this dining table.
What had been his reaction then?
His father's threatening, cold words had shattered him. He had wept in distress and sought his mother's comfort. He had felt his father growing increasingly unkind. He had wondered whether the father he adored actually despised him. He had felt that only his mother truly loved him.
At that time, he had been too young to perceive the expectations concealed behind his father's stern demeanor, and he had also overlooked the affection represented by the extra chocolate pudding.
If Draco wished, he could simply summon the house-elves to bring him countless servings. It was not as though they could not afford it. But Lucius had deliberately reserved his portion for his son.
This sort of clumsy affection might be clearer to adult eyes, but for an innocent young boy, it was too subtle. Who could notice it?
After his parents departed the table, Draco finally ceased pretending to be a child. He ate his second helping of pudding thoughtfully, just as Lucius had done, slowly processing the difficult decision he had reached through rational consideration: he would attend Hogwarts after all.
Hogwarts.
Draco's seven years at Hogwarts had not been as magnificent as he had anticipated, particularly since he had to face the arrogant Potter, the mocking Weasley, and the insufferable know-it-all Miss Granger every day.
Draco huffed, though his body shuddered involuntarily. Although several years had passed, the punch Granger had delivered to his face remained quite memorable.
If she were not Potter's friend, if he had not been so foolish at the time, if he had shown this Muggle-born witch a bit more respect...
After all, she was not unintelligent—she was actually brilliant.
Lucius had constantly compared her marks with Draco's, which had mortified and infuriated him in his previous life—his father always remarked that he could not even outperform a Muggle-born witch.
As a child, Draco had respected, feared and admired his father, treating everything his father said as absolute truth.
He had wanted to earn his father's complete approval and become a Malfoy his father respected, and he would have sacrificed everything for it.
Therefore, the disappointment of being rejected by his father had made him irrational, caused him to ignore some of his genuine feelings, and kept him occupied deepening his animosity toward Potter.
In those days, he had been accustomed to being the center of attention. He had loved the spotlight and craved others' admiration and awe. This was what every eleven-year-old boy desired.
But Potter and his companions had stolen his prominence. Or rather, Potter's brilliance had been too intense, like the moon, making his once dazzling presence seem somewhat dim.
This dramatic contrast had enraged him—he who considered himself "heaven's chosen"—and driven him to irrationality. He had taken great pleasure in provoking those three and attempting to attack them from various angles.
He had not even understood the reason for his fury before beginning his blind rivalry with them.
Merlin, reflecting on the past seven years, it seemed most of his energy had been wasted competing with them. When Draco recalled all this, he felt he had been utterly ridiculous.
Now, he no longer possessed the inclination for such absurdity. He had more important matters to accomplish and genuine, formidable enemies to confront.
The Dark Lord, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, that terrible enemy, had not yet returned, but somewhere he was stirring, and soon he would create chaos throughout the wizarding world.
The Malfoy family doctrine stated that a person's greatest glory was not never having failed, but being able to rise again after every failure.
If those memories represented a Waterloo for Draco Malfoy, then now was his finest opportunity to fight back and triumph.
There was still time.
There was still time to distance himself from all that filth and degradation.
There was still time to preserve the Malfoy family's honor.
There was still time to make a different choice. Seize the moment, grasp the fleeting opportunity.
Those brutal Death Eaters and werewolves must never defile Malfoy Manor and terrorize his father and mother again. Never!
How he had acquired these memories and how he had become an eleven-year-old boy again—such nebulous matters no longer seemed important to him.
What mattered was here, now, at this moment.
In his previous life, Dumbledore had told him atop the Astronomy Tower that he had a choice.
But regrettably, when he had hesitated and wished to attempt another path, Dumbledore had already been beyond saving and had fallen in the flashing green light beneath the Dark Mark.
He had lost that crucial opportunity and had no choice remaining.
From then onward, more and more opportunities had slipped away during his countless hesitations and vanished through his fingers, until it became too late for regret.
But now, he had been "reborn." He remained safe and whole, and possessed a choice.
Was this a warning from Merlin? Or was it an opportunity to begin anew?
Draco did not want much.
He did not wish to undertake any grand endeavor.
He was not so presumptuous as to believe he could destroy the Dark Lord single-handedly merely by being "reborn."
At the very least, he must contain the Dark Lord and prevent his resurrection. He must employ Slytherin methods to obstruct him and prevent him from becoming an overwhelming force.
After all, Draco Malfoy merely wished to protect the Malfoy family and his own world.
Protect the people who mattered to him.
The Malfoy family had endured hundreds of years of turbulence and still stood stubbornly upon the fields of Wiltshire, brilliant and unyielding. This time, blessed with so many memories, why could they not fight for a chance to emerge unscathed?
Tomorrow, he would encounter Potter. The key figure necessary to resist the Dark Lord. The foolish Potter who had rescued him at the critical moment.
The eleven-year-old Potter, that poorly dressed child, was truly something to anticipate...
"Harry Potter, allow me to know you properly this time." Draco murmured softly.